On this day, eight years ago, my house burnt down in the Black Saturday fires. I wrote about my experience over here if anyone is interested in reading it. 

It’s funny, the difference time can make. Sometimes I want to go back and rewrite all the old love poems. I can’t let anything sit peacefully. I want everything kept up to date. Here is the epilogue. Here is the hope and here is how it fizzled out.

I want you to be afraid of losing me, without thinking that you will because you’ve made me smile more times in the last few weeks than I ever have before, and I’d never be stupid enough to let you go, because I know in my mind, that I’ve made the right choice and it just might be the first one, because I felt it when we kissed, that you might be the last one.

If you see something beautiful in someone, speak it.

I want to burn down the distance between us.

Maybe I’m getting tired – I can’t think of anything but nights with you. I want them warm and silvery.