Yesterday I found a magnificent poem while trolling through Facebook and immediately though of you.
Today is Anzac Day; a public holiday for us all and while we remember those who fought for our country I also remember how you would come over on days like these. I still expect the phone to ring and hear your cheerful voice or the doorbell to chime and find you standing there in your favorite cobalt blue blazer and black heeled shoes.
I’m expecting you to show up for lunch today and spend the rest of the afternoon with us. I want to show you the new denim jacket I scored yesterday, though I know what you’d say. You would laugh and pull at all the excessive tears and holes though far from impressed you’d be, but you’d keep your poker face and admire it anyway. And even though you’re tastes in fashion are of a more conservative nature you still appreciate a bargain when you see it.
I’d want to walk you back home where you’d invite me inside. You’d offer me that store brought mud cake that was your favorite. Or was it? Sometimes I wonder if you only purchased it for us because you knew we liked it. We’d sit around and talk about nothing, you’d talk about the motherland and stories of growing up in a small European village, then right before nightfall we’d say our goodbyes. But I knew that by the time I arrived back home you’d already be on the phone to mum conversing about something.
Those were the good days.