Funny how you just need an unfairly forgotten relic from your closet to remind you that your best days aren't past you yet, no matter what the world might insist on saying. You're just as much a girl as you ever were, and always will be.

This is what I'm talking about. At twenty-four, I'm still capable of curling up with a fluffy doll I bought last year- it is dusty and unwashed and has the odour of unused clothes about it. But I can bury my nose into its soft head and it won't complain. Its nose is flat and ridiculously violet. Its eyes stare without expression and it is quite drained of colour. But does that matter when it is a much-loved toy, or for that matter person, that we're talking of? It holds many memories, and is storing up some more even now as it lies placidly on my lap.

I'm reminded of the story where a boy had to have his beloved stuffed hare (?) taken away because he was ill- oh the touching simplicity of childhood! A link to the story will be much appreciated- I can't seem to be able to find it.

The rain is pattering on the sunshades where the pigeons roost- where will they sleep tonight? Do they have memories to help them through the storm?