I mean, at the end of the day, what the hell does it matter who I end up with if it can't be you?

At the end of the day it's about how much you can bear, how much you can endure. Being together, we harm nobody; being apart, we extinguish ourselves.

How can something so wrong feel so right?

As the light begins to intensify, so does my misery, and I wonder how it is possible to hurt so much when nothing is wrong.

I might appear confident and chatty, but I spend most of my time laughing at jokes I don't find funny, saying things I don't really mean - because at the end of the day that's what we're all trying to do: fit in, one way or another, desperately trying to pretend we're all the same.

They say when you really love someone, you should be willing to set them free. So that is what I am doing. I will step back and you will move on. I will let you go. ... Your happiness means everything to me. I will listen for your voice in the distance. I will look at the moon. I will keep you in my pocket. I will carry your smile with me everywhere, like a warm and comforting glow.

It's always nice being fancied. It's always nice being wanted. Even it it's by the wrong person.

Any guy, even imaginary, would just feel like second best. Second best to what? I don't even have an image of the perfect boyfriend. I just know he must exist. Because I have all these feelings-love, longing, wanting to be touched, dreaming of being kissed-yet no one to focus them on.

Me limpio las mejillas y vuelvo la cabeza para mirarlo —¡No hemos hecho nada malo! ¿Cómo se le puede llamar terrible a un amor así cuando no le estamos haciendo daño a nadie?Él me mira, sus ojos brillan a la débil luz. —No sé— susurra.—¿Cómo algo tan malo puede sentirse tan bien?