I am looking at the sky despite the clouds. I will not miss these moments. It is just me and my eyes. I have no telescope, no binoculars. I am looking at the sky, the night sky, through a mist of light pollution, into the occluded dark, here, so late and so early, standing alone for this fleeting chance. I am gazing into the stars to see fractured pieces of rock and ice as small as grains of sand. I am waiting for them to flare, to illuminate the ghost of a speeding comet. I am waiting for the gods.
In a bedroom with a notebook and biro. Turning words into lyrics. The radio on. Up-and-coming stars. Thoughts of playing gigs and getting on telly. The songs to be sung and the power to change the world. All those guitars. Rips in jeans and hair falling over eyes. A plaid shirt. Some jotted down chords. Browsing in record shops and nights in the pub. Dreams of success and band rehearsals made up of gaffer tape, howling feedback and arguments. Lying on a bed with the window open in spring. Listening to the news. Stomach cramps. Depression. Drugs. A shotgun. Over.