April 3rd, 2010

Sarah's home.

Summer came like cinnamon, so sweet... Little girls double-dutch on the concrete...

It'd been a while... There was a lot that needed saying...

Oh, don't you hesitate.

Thankfully the boys skedaddled to the baseball field so we had quite the opportunity.

Girl, put your records on, tell me your favorite song...

We've been cooking in the kitchen, drinking exotic tea, groovin' to love songs... talking girl-talk...

The more things seem to change, the more they stay the same...

She burned the chicken cutlets. She says she didn't burn them. But they look kinda blackish on the edges and the house is full of smoke...

Sometimes we got it wrong, but it's alright.

She's barely here for 48 hours. We got an hour to talk. But we're sisters. We can get in a lot in an hour.

Sapphire and faded jeans, I hope you get your dreams, just go ahead and let your hair down...

You're going to find yourself somewhere, somehow.


*Set to the lyrics of Put Your Records On by Corinne Bailey Rae.