This time when she picked up her paints, she didn’t think, she just painted. It was like opening the door onto a storm. The canvas was her doorway and the paint all the thunder and lightning, the wild pain-filled sky caught inside her.

She put her head in her hands and began to cry softly. He felt confused and bitterly unhappy. A part of him wanted to go to her, to hold and comfort her, but he wasn’t prepared to be pushed away in cold anger all over again. He waited in his chair and felt the room expand until there was an emptiness the size of the desert between them.

I can’t tell you what to do. Only you know what is best for you, but I can tell you this much: love isn’t a destination, it’s a journey. You have to be willing to walk together or you will end up walking further and further apart.

Never complete. Never whole.White skin and an African soul.

Eventually, she looked up, her eyes completely void of emotions. “You are merely a diversion. You mean nothing to me.” She walked past him and out of the room. She left him, a fish gasping amongst the clouds, falling back to earth.

He went up to his room and sat down at the desk to write the hardest note he'd even written in his life. He tore up four attempts before he was happy with what he'd written. It was short and to the point. " You mean everything to me.