But I don't want to be fine, not if it means she's going to let go of my hand; not if it means we're going to go back to being polite strangers.

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.

He will think Lochan wasn't loved, but he was, more deeply than most people are in a lifetime.

He is my soul mate, my fresh air, the reason I look forward to getting up every morning.

At what point do you give up - decide enough is enough? There is only one answer really. Never.

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

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