We spent the whole winter fantasizing about it, and now it's here. When fear mingles with excitement, all you can do is hold your breath and hope for the best. How will it end, you wonder, before it has even begun to unfold. Do we try to make this work, or do we let go whilst there's still time to escape unscathed?

For no reason at all, you give a different twist to a late-night conversation by dwelling on the futility of love. What if we've become way too distant and cynical, you ask, what if we're no longer capable of true affection? What if, in anticipating the inevitable ending, we bring it about all too soon?

You repeat yourself, going around in vicious circles- the same old questions plaguing the same, sad souls. Then it kicks in. Thunders of awe and paranoia. Is this it, you whisper while you lie in the dark, longing for sleep to drown your ghosts of agony and desire in the mist of oblivion, yet struggling to remain awake so that none of these desolatingly miraculous moments goes to waste.