I’m staring dead into your eyes, as your face is overcome with emotion. Your ankles up beside my ears. On the verge of ecstasy. I reach from within, striving to find some force majeure to maintain myself in my current position. But, the satisfaction derived from your deliverance to a higher plain, falls short of convincing. Not when considering the excessive labour already expelled this evening, to ensure this exercise was not a total waste of energy. The temptation to bring this painstakingly misaligned physical activity to an end overwhelms me, and I collapse upon you. Leaving you in a state of utter confusion. I whisper softly into your ear, and use my index finger to move a strand of hair from your damp forehead.

We speak for a while, and you roll another splif. I ask if you would like to do this again, and you become quiet. Before unleashing a tirade upon me, concerning my emotional vacancy. Even as we approached seemingly pivotal high notes, within the throes of our entanglement upon your damp bed. You divulge that you feel my performance was contrived, and lacking authenticity.

‘I am not sure where you were this evening, but since we entered my flats front door, you became empty. Have you smiled once in the last two hours? Even as I dug my nails deep into your hips, your face was blank, and joyless – despite your actions trying to convince me you wanted this. Whoever you were with, go and be with them. Don’t do this to other people. No amount of time spent with your head between a girl’s thighs can convince her, the empty look in your eyes is one of desire for her. You are very hardworking, I will give you that. But, those pretty greens, they tell no lies…’


‘What is her name?’

She takes a long drag, before exhaling and passing me the splif. I inhale, and hold my breath for as long as I can. The motions I went through, canvasing the surface of her skin with my lips, and running my calloused fingertips across her bare legs. A desperate plea to engage with some envisioned destiny when I was with you. Yet, she sits here feeling empty and used. Dreaming of a day when pieces of human shit, don’t misuse her empathetic ways. Her endearing eyes searching only for honest connection, and redemption from her lonely life. The whole scenario cementing the prophetic eventual arrival of my character, to atypical white male vampire. Dishonestly suckling on the admiration of those I aim to have no follow through with. Deviating every so often from my harmless coquettish games, to reassert my masculine prowess beneath the sheets. Like some fawning adolescent, attempting to convince the school yard of their conquests.

She puts on a record, which we had spoken about earlier in the evening. Seated at a table flooded with empty cocktail glasses. Her eyes are red, and she dances slowly to the music. Portions of her naked body are illuminated by the city lights creeping through the edges of the blinds. As she moves with the slow electronic beats, she breaks through the beams of lights, giving sight to another portion of her caramel skin. Her left breast; her right arm; her collar bone, and small neck line. The light reflects off her skin into my eyes, and I am overcome, blinded for just a moment. I watch her move slowly, averting her eyes from meeting mine as I stare at her deeply, marvelling at the sight. A beautiful goddess, a show for one. A sad queen, unveiling a new level of honest vulnerability as a final plea for connection. And, I just sit here incapable of even igniting a physical reaction of appreciation.

I consider getting up to leave, as she crawls back across the strewed bed sheets, working her lips up my thigh. Her eyes connect with mine, as she ascends my body slowly. Finally reaching my lips, where I respond accordingly, with only conditioned muscle memory driving my responsiveness. She reaches between my legs, and attempts to start over again. My eyes close, and I try to be whisked away with you once more. Though, guilt hangs heavy on my thoughts, and I am compelled to put this to an end.

In Hinduism, if you are to achieve true disentanglement from the atman (one’s self, or soul; your identification as an individual different from others). You are to recognise that the atman, is in fact one with the Brahman. That all is Brahman. That is to suggest that consciousness is a collective, and existence, and reality are the one entity. All duality is maya (falsely imagined; illusionary).

I picture this as a childhood playmat, scattered with marbles. A beautiful antique collection, with diverse colours and designs. Each one, different from the last, and individually significant within the collection. Somewhat like our expansive, incomprehensible cosmos. In which our planet, and our lives play a minute, yet individualistic role. Formed from the one beginning, and brought into fruition with measurable poetic chaos. Particles were thrown from across the vast dimension of space with explosive supernovas, creating endless opportunities for the formation of galaxies, and solar systems. Yet, everything in existence, reaching far beyond the observable universe, remains the embodiment of a collective entity. Built from the same building blocks of energy.

Amongst this seemingly never-ending chaos. I somehow met you. And, I wonder if perhaps what I felt was the realisation of a reflection of my own atman. A recognition of my own psyche, deep within your existence. Could it be, that your marble sat beside my own, upon that randomised playmat? That our connection was felt so strongly, because you were the closest embodiment of myself, within the collection? Could true love, just be the recognition of another speckle of stardust closely formed next to your own, at the beginning of time? Are those who are truly enlightened – like the goddess who lays upon my chest – the individuals which recognise, we are all the same, deserving of love and connection. Despite how far away our marbles were from one another, upon their conception.

London Town, with O