She has been deep in thought for quite some time now. Something she saw or heard earlier reminded her of her early childhood when she used to love scribbling away with her crayons. Tongue peeping out from the corner of her mouth, concentration etched all over her face, crayons in chubby hands, she’d labour over fantastical scenes of princesses and castles, dragons and heroic princes. She remembers how she would save her favourite purple crayola and only use it in her most special creations. She was terrified of over-using it - knew that using it too much was akin to letting it fade out and the thought of her beloved purple crayola running out completely mortified her. His warm, honeyed voice snaps her back to reality, to today. "You okay honey?" He asks, looking a little concerned. "Uh huh – sorry I was off with the fairies," she smiles. He looks her directly in the eyes, and slowly his words form, "I love you." Suddenly, she is a child again, clasping her beloved purple crayola to her heart, worrying, petrified that it will run out. Her adult self is panicked, is that what’s going on here? Am I wearing it out every time I say it? She looks up at his face, studies every line, the contours, his smiling eyes, he reaches out and touches her face and strokes her cheek with a feather-light touch of love. A touch that astounds her, practically knocking her off her feet and almost makes her want to cry. And she realises in that tiniest of moments that she’s not wearing it out at all, because you only wear it out if you say it without meaning it. If it's empty and hollow. But that's not the case here. She means it, she feels it. And she knows that he does too. So as long as they're only saying it because they mean it, as long as they show it, then they'll be just fine. And what would be the point of having such a beautiful purple crayon if you didn't use it to create beautiful pictiures?

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