She floats into her flat;
structured and organised chaos greets me in the bedroom.
With a wardrobe bigger than my London room, her clothes line the walls and the floors.
A collage of pictures and remembrances from home, she appears to have it all under control.
The endless beeping of her phone assures me her social sphere is extensive;
never a dull moment in her day.
The empty pantry and fridge concerns my slightly,
yet her aggravation of flatmate food sharing eases my worries.
We lie there and chat about everything and nothing,
bouncing of each other like in the old days.
Things have changed, yet they haven't all the same -
a comforting memory for me to hold onto.
We lounge at the beach, drink coffee at vineyard and have wines at roccos;
a sample of what life would be life.
"Just move here already" she says -
half sarcastic, half serious.
I could and would be so content.
Living in the same city as my sister, now as adults, would be so easy.
But in the same breath she reassures me that I need to go back,
I've got the ticket and it's exciting.
There is plenty of time for Melbourne living and sisterly naughtiness.
Right now it's her time in this city... flourishing in her own unique way.
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