Memories keep coming back to me.
Bright flashes of nostalgia.
Just normal things,
but normal things that I’ve not thought about probably ever.
Since they first happened maybe.
(It just so happens that I can’t recall any of them right now)
But it’s things like the smell of warm summer air walking home from the rugby club.
Or watching the carnival week parade from the bay window of Mum and Dad’s bedroom in Malvern house.
Or the feeling of warm sand between your toes when you have to put your trainers back on at the end of a long day on the beach.
In between things.
In between the crying and screaming and sleepless nights and multiples of 7 or 49.
Do these things make up for the other things?
The in between things.
Chopped banana and grapes and Rosie and Jim.
Forts made from bushes.
Over-sized hand-me-down clothes.
A plaster on a scrubbed knee that you’d wear with pride
someone took care of me.