I could listen to you and your words for hours. And hours and hours. And I wouldn't ever feel as though I'd 'wasted my time'. Instead I would feel that I'd been doing something worthwhile. Something positive. I like that sometimes you ramble and talk out of your arse. And that sometimes you share your rawest most potent and hurtful words. That you vent your spleen and expose your innards and tell stories of yourself and others like a true raconteuse. I love that when I listen to you I feel like a ten year old again, all misty-wide-eyed with awe and admiration for you, listening intently as you weave another intricate plot together with apparent ease. That I forget myself in these brief idylls and I don't give a damn what people think of me (as they screw their faces up and tut at me muttering 'sad-sycophant-girl' under their breath). I'm not entirely sure how you manage to wrap me round each of your words as you unfurl another tale, leaving me teetering on the brink of satiation one minute, and with an alarming hunger for more the next. I'm not sure at all. But I like it. I like it a lot.

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