It is only when you leave a place that you realise how important it is.
Travel is a revitalisation of life, a new beginning, but it is also an end.
Every time a plane flies over her head, her eyes stare after it. There is a bitter taste upon her tongue.
At night insomnia traps her into a loving embrace, keeping her eyes wide open.
What is a place?
Laughter with tearful eyes, those coconut incense sticks, summer storms talking to her, your twin. A fire in the garden, her eyes tell you that there is no need to speak.
A place is the warmth of a freshly baked far breton, calm open hands, a game of cards and French words falling off our tongues. Green tea mixed with the words we love.
A place is not the Harbour Bridge, warm temperatures and the morning symphony of Kookaburras.
A place is a burning kiss and deep-blue eyes.
In the end nothing else matters than the people you meet. It is they that shape our perception of a place, so that when we leave, we cannot help but look back, hoping that we will not forget.
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