The woman treasured stories like precious friends – kept them close and all around.

She’d done it as a child too, but was unaware then that they were more than enthralling tales.

Book, films, TV shows and even songs were gathered around her. Held close but like long lost relatives their features and meaning sometimes forgotten.

Useful and somewhat ornamental they were too – just there to fill the spaces between like grout in the tiles.

And they don’t argue or borrow your clothes or drink your rum…as much as she collected she also had no responsibility to them, for they belonged to someone else first.

Lonely but wanting to be alone, friendly but waving from the other side of the river – with just enough distance to converse but not embrace.

So fill those spaces with voices, words and others’ lives – friends and foes without the personal touch.