When I write this in bed, I can almost hear the echo of the wind over the sand, or the groans of wooden panels around me. I can almost smell the dustiness of the camel, taste the bitterness of saltbush. And when I dream, your warm hands cover my shoulders. Your whispers carry stories and sound like the rustle of spinifex. I still wear that ring, you know... at night, when no one is watching.

Lucy Christopher

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It was so big, that view. I'll never remember it perfectly. How can anyone remember something that big? I don't think people's brains are designed for memories like that.

Lucy Christopher

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