Lochie. The boy I once loved. The boy I still love. The boy I will continue to love, even when my part in this world is over too.

Time has stopped; time is racing. Lochie's lips are rough yet smooth, hard yet gentle. His fingers are strong: I feel them in my hair and on my neck and down my arms and against my back. And I never want him to let me go.

How-how can we make it against the whole world?

I love you in–in every kind of way.’ ‘I feel like that too . . .’ His voice is shocked and raw. ‘It’s – it’s a feeling so big I sometimes think it’s going to swalow me. It’s so strong I feel it could kil me. It keeps growing and I can’t – I don’t know what to do to stop it. But – but we’re not supposed to do this – to love each other like this!

If I keep breathing, then I have to keep living, and if I keep living, then I have to keep hurting, and I can't - not like this.

only a matter of time before it broke through our fragile web of denial, forcing us to confront the truth and acknowledge who we are: two people in love – a love that nobody else could possibly understand.

Otherwise I'll fall apart. I'm going to fall apart. I am falling apart.