It was a Sunday afternoon, and I was sat in my hammock swinging back and forth, thinking about everything that was going on; which wasn't much. It never was much back then.
My life seemed what you'd call 'perfect' although now I realise perfect is very unrealistic. Everyday was warm and sunny, and there was never a time I felt upset or scared, nervous or worried. Everything seemed so 'perfect'
Luke would bring out a glass of lemonade for us both, his blonde hair swept to the side and sit with me. We'd laugh and muck around, until suddenly it was dark, and we had lost all track of time.
He was perfect. Life was perfect. My thoughts and feelings were perfect.
I never imagined how life could turn out to be so imperfect.