How odd is this thing called love.
Philosophers, poets, writers and film makers have for centuries written about it and tried to explain or define it, but the best we can do is tell or show some of the ways it reveals itself.
A young girl was showing grandma her dolls. She talked about each one, then lifted one off the shelf and handed it to her Gran.
“This one,” she said, “is my favourite”.
The doll was old, ragged and well-worn. An eye was missing, and the ragged material had long since faded. Granny was taken aback and couldn’t resist asking why this was her favourite.
“Well”, she said, “if I didn’t love her, nobody would”.