Zara She definitely went to his college. Definitely, she looked so familiar. She was paradisiacal, dancing away, carelessly like some quixotic version of real #life. She dressed divinely, her skirt, just to the right seductive length, her high-heels, effortless yet should be crippling. Locked in that sweaty nightclub, yet her hair; long, dark and shinning, tumbling down her figure sitting just on the middle of her back. She was with a group of friends all embracing the religion of the young, lost in the beats and riffs of the music. He stood, and watched her, soaking her in. Slowly, sipping his drink until the taste of Vodka was nullified and diluted by the melted ice. Without realising she was firmly rooting herself deeply into his subconscious, taking over his mind. He initially, on the night, put it down to a heady concoction of teenage lust and sexual attraction being considerably heightened by too much alcohol. But it had to be clearly more than that. It’s something primal and yet ethereal, the fact that someone can consume your attention within a few seconds of looking at them. That one person can make you rush inside, send you into paroxysms, make you into a walking cliché. Just another Romeo, like millions before you and after you, but this is special, and nothing like as wrenching as anyone has felt before. Her face was emblazoned in his dreams as the most memorable thing. She had; glorious dark eyes, prevalent cheek-bones, a smile that was only made better by the sumptuous look of her full, pretty lips. She had that look of many a beautiful English girl, the English Rose. It’s something distinctive about English girls and something that all English boys are heavily grateful.

This Charming Man Punctured bicycle, on a hillside, desolate! “ He sings, at the top of his voice bellowing into the cool night air. This is the sound of drunken youth, hastily staggering along the sparkling northern streets. The night’s still clinging on as dawn steadily approaches, the mild drizzle of the early hours has left the streets with a sticky sheen. They glisten with the#moonand piercing starlight. In some form of beautiful parody, the drunken boy scuffing his way home looks like some effortless dance on the stage of suburbia, under a flooding lunar spotlight.

Youth. I Youth is like a beautiful sunset. Fleeting, paradisical, and hopelessly romantic.

The View From The Late Afternoon The sun smoulders all afternoon untill an enveloping, almost mystical, orange glaze perforates every inch of the sky to the south. it streaks and entwines with dashes of purple and red like an artists pallet trying to capture the perfect sunset on canvas. The sweet last rays of northern sunshine clasp and claw onto the cliffside as they slowly begin to shiver upon the horizon. Dusk slowly begins it's ascent, slowly and patiently creeping over my English spectrum sky looking beautifully soothing and endlessly infinite. As the sky melts into blackness, the vermillion satin colour of night pierced with needle like stars, putting everyone and thing into perspective with one audacious wink from above. Showing the insignificance of it all, and yet showing that above all there is only this.