Sentenced

Text extract from this story, which was (alarmingly) written several years ago. I came across the photo accidentally, and then as usually happens when my eyes flick past another's impression of Morocco, I get all nostalgic and stuck wondering how much of my current person was formed by living in this place.

Every time I return, the lights on the hills reach my eyes sooner, the traffic subsides faster and I can hear my heart beating on a downhill as we curve around the coastline towards the town and the memories so imprinted on my mind it can sometimes hurt.