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.

And I know how he feels–it’s so good it hurts.

Out of the millions and millions of people that inhabit this planet, he is one of the tiny few I can never have.

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?

Nothing can relieve the pain. Not crying, laughing, screaming, begging. Nothing can change the past.

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.

Anyway, what does mad mean exactly?" Rami added quickly "Aren't we all a little mad? Don't we have to be somehat mad just to go on living, to go on hoping?