*Originally Published: 8th November 2023* Life: we're catapulted from the womb into a cold, uncaring universe. Our bodies a little flame burning in defiance of entropy's cruel pull. A fire that will slowly diminish over the span of a paltry 6-8 decades. In the struggle for meaning amidst the void and equalled perhaps only by the deep warmth of procreation, is the human prerogative to find a partner to whom we can cling. And just like parenthood, seemingly at odds with the cold utilitarianism of much of modern life, it becomes apparent that it's not any particular tangible benefits that make loving another so fulfilling. It is simply the act itself. It starts as a subtle thing. Every shared moment is a tapestry woven from the threads of ordinary days. A silent river that runs deep, unnoticed until we realise it's the very current that sustains us and we are hopelessly caught up in its flow. In the quiet moments of existence, the everyday contentment, that warmth that is a constant companion which we often take for granted, lies something deep and profound. If we had only moments left to live, it would reveal what really matters as we urgently clung to the ones we love. The clamour of life's trivialities would fall away, and all that would remain would be two souls, intertwined. Desperately proclaiming: "I am here, and I love you".