A rush and a kick
Because I used to be you, man.
Standing, in the balmy summer air, sipping on a water bottle, squashing plastic, containing a litre of decanted cornershop Merlot. Grunting. Smoking. Laughing, smiling, and feeling almost young and beautiful again. Among the in crowd, among the great and the good. I was never on the inside. Always in the borderlands.
Another band is done, another steps up. I take a minute to consider the current lay of the land, my own project, my own endeavour. Once again, moving fast, steady progress, positivity, has taken a bullet to the side and slumped into a shellhole, leaving its fate hanging by a hand from the lip, wondering if it can pull itself up.
Stop personifying circumstances. It’s not dignified, boy.
I get some go again, and as soon as I realise I’m moving, I’ve stopped. Never bloody easy.