My Mr Lost,

We clash and burn each other with the mighty power of the Titans. Surely there must be a relatively normal state of mind between being ripped apart by the thought that the other person may not care one jot, and feeling deliriously happy about that tiny portion of love we can afford for each other.

Caught in the whirlwind romance, we seem to have skipped all the steps which are necessary to get to know a person but irrelevant as reasons to love them. We have jumped straight to the symphony without taking a single look at the biography of the musician.

Would it make any difference to you, for example, to know that my favourite colour is orange? Or that I once wrote a love note to the ancient professor of Roman Law at uni, for a bet, and that he read it loud in the class, challenging the culprit to stand up if 'she dared'?

Would it surprise you if I said I did? In front of a hundred students?

Do the little things in one's life make the life, or the individual?

Emma x