Sunday, 14 October 2012
The ominous blast of thunder shattered the silence. She stood quietly on the old wooden porch and twirled her long coal black locks around her fingers, willing time to move quicker. Her olive skin was flushed with the memory of a broken champagne glass and dried up roses. The scent of leather crept into the sultry summer air and she dreamed of home… home where the clouds tell stories and the sunbeams dance and every day is a song.
Thursday, 26 April 2012
Laughter echoing through the tile-thatched terrace, the strains of Christmas melodies, and the scent of freshly baked scones in the oven… My earliest memories are filled with her and I think it’s safe to say – so are hers. It’s amazing to grow up with someone at the same pace, to conquer similar obstacles at the same place, and to share emotional whirlwinds at the same phase. My summer holidays were about her, my letters were all addressed to her, and my music was always hers. It was tough having to leave her behind and shift halfway across the world but she was always there when I came back and now I know she’s never going anywhere.