She liked him. She liked the feeling of liking him. She felt light and smiley and too full of excitement to think of anything else.

I was clinging to all that had been and, in an ideal world, all that we had hoped for. He, he wanted out.

That's the beauty about love. It's not about give-and-take - it's about feeling safe in one's needs - wanting to be looked after as much as wanting to look after.

She liked him. She liked the feeling of liking him. She felt light and smiley and too full of excitement to think of anything else.

It's not a persons mistakes which define them - it's the way they make amends.

She didn't want to be reminded of her past or how different her present was from the future she'd taken for granted.

His version of 'real' love isn't sufficient for me, I don't think anyone should settle for so little. It wasn't love - not in the true sense. On my part, it was neediness, insecurity, dependence, habit - desperate to feel loved by a man who was often ambivalent towards me.