This is you in your bed.
Losing the fight against the sunlight and reality.
So you stagger out of bed. You head still swinging. Swinging to the rhythm of the night club you left too late. It feels too late to be waking up, but you have nothing to do today.
So you think back to last night.
Think back to what might have been.
Which wasn’t that good anyway.
You stagger down stairs. Not pretending the stagger is a dance. …Unlike last night.
When you believed the stagger was a dance. When you hoped the person you were staggering with could be the one.
Now you wonder if you will ever find the one.
In a club like that, where the noise of the drums throbbed like you’re head does now.
Not deafening, but always in the background.
And you wondered if you had taken a wrong turn into the club,
Just following a route you know too well.
Until the beat
which felt so sweet
took command of your feet.
And in the trace of a dance
took you by chance to meet the one.
Loneliness was gone,
For you had found someone.
Though not for long.
You never made a start,
before you drifted apart
time to depart,
with nothing in your heart.
Back in now you stagger into you own kitchen.
Too late for breakfast.
So you stare into the fridge for inspiration.
While the food lies silent, maybe hoping you won’t see it.
This is your life and this is the road it is going down.
Maybe tomorrow the morning will greet you, the sun will shine, and joy will own your heart.
But as you look down the rest of today your road looks empty and your destination unseen beyond the hazy horizon.
The Legend that is Richard Stephenson
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