We're in this together, right?" he whispers. "You and me? You want to be here, yeah?" There's guilt in his questions. "Yes," I reply. "I chose this." Day pulls me close enough for our noses to touch. "I love you.

I feel so out of place here. No matter how much money the Republic throws at me, I will forever be the boy from the streets.

It feels like it's the end of the world if you don't do well on your SATs.

I'd once been fascinated by his legend - all the stories I'd heard before I met him. Now I can feel that same sense of fascination returning. I picture his face, so beautiful even after pain and torture and grief, his blue eyes bright and sincere. I'm ashamed to admit that I enjoyed my brief time with him in his prison cell. His voice can make me forget about all the details running through my mind, bringing with it emotions of desire, or fear instead, sometimes even anger, but always triggering something. Something that wasn't there before.

Without emotion, what's the point of being human?

Tomorrow, I will take on all of these things. I will be unstoppable.

Now, as we stand three feet apart and stare at each other, I feel the full distance that comes with spending so much time apart, a moment filled with the electricity of a first meeting and the uncertainty of strangers.