Parma Violets


I can only experience you in my dreams but that’s fine.



…it’s not fine.

…it’s a lie.

But it’s the only lie that I cling to.

This lie that we will somehow be preserved magically.

This lie that someone has preserved us in our prime.

We will remain, full of potential but never kinetic.  We are the unopened seed pods, that may or may not destroy ourselves in the dense exhausts of the nearest truck…

…or may yet find a patch of green earth where we can blossom and grow side by side.

We are raw.

And of course our teeth bang against each other when we kiss; of course our gums bleed.  We don’t know what we are doing.  But the point is, we are willing to continue and to try.

We grasp hands and we drink too much and we spend too much money on literature and music; we buy jackets, socks and wine to impress each other and we know that the other will acknowledge the effort but not the reward…. for fuck’sake…

….we know this…. and yet we continue.

And it is beautiful that we do.



…like the rules that say you can’t start a sentence with ‘because’, we don’t go by the accepted norms.  We just follow our feelings.  And they are transparent and elusive.  They divert us from the norm.


You have found a solid path.  I stand on mist.

I am secure.  I know you look for my footsteps.



Author: jimmicampkin

Writer and photographer (and occasional other things) currently living in the North East of England. Everything is my own unless otherwise stated. So blame me.

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