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?

If I move, if I speak, if I so much as blink, I'm going to lose this battle.

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 am overcome by a feeling of complete detachment. I am a mere object to these people. I am barely human any more.

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 my loneliness, always my loneliness - that airless bubble of despair that is slowing stifling me.

And the very important fact that I'm here to worry with you and go through all of this - every little bit of it - by your side, even your worst-case-scenario, should it somehow come to that. You wouldn't be doing any of it alone.' Her voice drops and she looks down at our hands, fingers entwined, resting on her lap. 'Whatever happens, there will always be us.