I’ve always had a thing for old photographs.

The way the black casts its shadow on the white and leaves shades of grey in between.

The way they contrast and compliment each other in a single frame.

The way they hide truth but reveal beauty.

Or maybe that’s just how things are in the purest of forms. Maybe they strip bone and leave nothing but spine and smile.

I’ve always had a thing for old photographs.

They’ve always filled the blank spaces of uncertain

Like you my love

You have and will always be a dream

The red sweater in an old photograph

The tickle of rain on my desert heart

Forget the heartbeat, dance to the grey that my veins now play and unwind the colour from your skin.

You’ve always been most faithful locked in the tower of a dream

You’ve always been most beautiful when you didn’t exist.