Even on wrong turns, detours; damp and derailed,
along red lines I knew would rattle,
sojourns into subterranean thoughts
of finding forever in a place that only held a past
there was still a steady stream of perception,
a suggestion of adaption
worn into walls that never would.
The tunnels were only ever to be temporary.
All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly.
This month is about looking into the shadow to find the light. I first moved to Paris at 22, left at 24 and returned at 40 thinking it would be last stop, rest, relax. But it turned out to be just another tunnel along this track of life. Next stop… Ireland; Boy Returns as Man.