Sunday, 5 July 2015
The Waves Still Crash At Eastbourne, But the Shore Has Lost It's Tongue
The road stretches out and all around. The past is now, and the future is faded and turning brown. I've done it all before and I'm doing it all again. I stood here once when I was turning ten, and excitedly pressed the binocular lens up against my eyes, and then...then I was thirty-four years old. I was snugged up against the cold, and I had my fingers tucked away into my jacket folds. I'd become immune to life's pleasures somewhere along the line, yet another side affect of the marching of time. Yet standing here I was more aware of how numb I'd become, a ponderous numbness and my throat was left dumb. She asked again: "what are we doing here?" and I turned and I walked away from the charred remains of Eastbourne pier.