Heart strings, part one.

My phone made the sound of a harp.

My Darling, he wrote, I'll be home soon!

After months of phone calls every day,

of faraway hearts and postcard love...

The garden was bursting into bloom, the floor was swept.

It was time.

The plane from Qatar was late, I paced up and I paced down. 

But then there he was, as always, larger than life.

And home we sped, on a sunday winter's night, to the fire in the grate, to the lamb in the oven. To laughter and clinking glasses. To wisps of lace from

my favourite shop in Paris...

Sometimes the world can be monochrome for days on end.

Then, in an instant, it bursts into full colour.

Later we fell asleep.

There was music.

And the scent of skin.