seven

Sometimes the past smells like lime blossom tea and faded photographs, where faces have been erased but feelings still tickle the memory. There was a time when emotions burst out without filters or ‘censorship of decency’ - we shouted, laughed, promised forever. Now everything is quieter, more mature, more careful. Only somewhere deep down does that wild, honest ‘then’ remain, hidden between a suitcase of dolls and a forgotten jumper. Maybe love really doesn't die - it just changes form so as not to interfere with life going on.