Simply K

Back in Folkestone,

the nights had a way of slowing everything down.

A cool breeze would roll in,

sometimes more than cool,

sharp enough to make you pull your shoulders in

and smile at the same time.

At night, most nights,

cars would pass by the War Memorial roundabout,

windows down, music too loud.

Ace of Base.

Dr Alban.

What Is Love by Haddaway.

Probably drunk young adults,

singing badly, laughing,

those songs drifting past and fading away,

leaving the night exactly how it was before.

We were early kids, teens then.

Hungry in that careless way.

We could eat doner kebab or McDonald’s every day

and still wake up excited to do it all over again.

Same Rotunda.

Same rides.

Same arcades.

Night after night.

And somehow, it never felt repetitive.

It felt like belonging.

We’d go to Blockbuster,

no rush, just drifting through the aisles,

arguing quietly,

judging films by their covers like experts in nothing.

Then home.

Lights low.

The TV would be on,

and we’d all be almost glued

to whatever movie we’d rented on cassette.

Our apartment had a balcony overlooking the sea.

On clear nights, when the fog stayed away,

you could stand there quietly

and see France in the distance.

Just a faint line on the horizon,

close enough to imagine,

far enough not to matter.

The night winds were cold.

Proper cold.

But we loved it.

That soft shiver,

the clean air filling your lungs

like it was washing something out of you.

We’d keep the windows half open,

even when we should’ve closed them.

Letting the sea in.

Letting the night breathe through the room.

There was also the graveyard.

Not far.

Always there.

Knowing it was dead people’s home,

their last resting place,

sent quiet chills through us

even when we tried not to think about it.

And somewhere far below,

from the Leas,

you could hear the waves.

Not loud.

Just steady.

Like the world breathing while you lay still.

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing special on paper.

But it felt safe.

It felt full.

It felt like life was behaving.

Those nights didn’t know they were memories yet.

They were just nights.