I've yet to find the exact word to describe the enjoyment that an evening spent riffling through old pattern books can bring.

I kissed my fingers,held my palm flat beside my mouth and blew it into the air that surrounded her memory. I closed my eyes, thinking this was one of those moments you see in movies or read about in books where everything comes together.

Her smile could wash away a thousand doubts as soon as light up a room.

I followed Barry closely as we walked through the main doors of the hospital, down the corridor that smelt like disinfectant and false hope.

It was tragic how life had sucked her down to the bones, all her spontaneity her laughter and freedom had vanished. I knew then that I didn't ever want to be like that. Whatever happened, life was something too precious to give up on so easily.

Love is like that, fragile and light. No wonder it rests upon our hearts in intangible moments, bids us follow fleeting thoughts and ideas and pursue our abstract imaginings.