We were picking up our roots,
As home is what you make it,
Running from situations,
Staying dry from the downpour.
But sitting inside those four walls,
Nothing more than a shelter,
You took me into the rain,
To show me it was how the world worked,
To teach me that behind the clouds
The Sun would still be shining,
And to walk through the storm
Was the best path to find it.
And when the storm had ended,
When we took our own ways,
I guess I stopped appreciating
Those lonely sunny days.
So my memories are the cold February afternoons,
Sitting beneath the oak trees,
Where we were lost in another world,
The one we made our own,
The world where I was oblivious
Of the rain crashing to the ground.
* * *
At only 19 years old, Alexander Lound is relatively new on the writing scene. Studying History at the University of Kent, he finds what time he can in between heaps of reading to escape into another world, to put pen to paper and allow his mind to run riot.
Lound knew that writing would become his passion from a young age, when at 9 years old, ignoring his teacher’s instructions to write a story surrounding the plot of an already published book, he wrote his own from scratch – much to the teachers displeasure. After losing interest in writing during his rebellious teenage years, he now has his head stuck firmly in composition again, spending days at at time on new works of poetry and fiction.