The question I have been asking myself, since my return from London is…What happens when you have moved on from the past but the past has not moved on from you?

Little did we know a year ago this week, would be the last week of life as we knew it.

I find myself from time to time romanticising the past, dwelling on what I could have said or done better, an old soul with a gentle mind and my heart runs off a little, off the beating track.

For quite some time I’d been optimistic for 2020, I had these thoughts of rekindling with an old flame, or maybe this was the year I’d meet someone new and generally speaking move forward but I am reaching the place where I am now no longer looking for an explanation to how this year has turned out.

Often reflection happens at times you least expect it. You’ve been putting one foot in front of the other for some time you forget how to really live.

If someone was to ask you what love meant to you how would you answer them? Would you say it was measured by the number of fights you’d never had? The length of years you’ve endured together through good times or bad or would you say love has no time limit and therefore is infinite.

Now, it’s been playing on my mind for some time, but somewhere down the line, I’ve been putting off breaching the subject although I have tried to write about this with a couple of different approaches.