While she could hardly fathom what had just happened to her that night, she reached some conclusions before she fell asleep, certain things now made perfect sense; Moon River didn't sound so syrupy, mistletoe wasn't such a bad idea, and perhaps dating was not such a frivolous waste of time after all.

I am an artist you know ... it is my right to be odd.

Sweetheart, darling, dearest, it was funny to think that these endearments, which used to sound exceedingly sentimental in movies and books, now held great importance, simple but true verbal affirmations of how they felt for each other. They were words only the heart could hear and understand, words that could impart entire pentameter sonnets in their few, short syllables.

...it's just another one of those things I don't understand: everyone impresses upon you how unique you are, encouraging you to cultivate your individuality while at the same time trying to squish you and everyone else into the same ridiculous mould. It's an artist's right to rebel against the world's stupidity

You cannot hinder someone's free will, that's the first law of the Universe, no matter what the decision.

Tempted to type meaningless twaddle all the time on Twitter...with alliteration, no less!

You staying home all alone on New Year's Eve? Unthinkable. Take my advice the countdown should be shared with someone, or it's just another set of numbers passing you by.