Never before have I imagined my life without him—like this house, he is my only point of reference in this difficult existence, this unstable and frightening world. The thought of his leaving home fills me with a terror so strong, it takes my breath away. I feel like one of those seagulls covered in oil from a spill, drowning in a black tar of fear.

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

And I know how he feels—it’s so good it hurts. I think I’m going to die from happiness. I think I’m going to die from pain. Time has stopped; time is racing.

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.

This is the definition of happiness: a whole day stretching out ahead of me, beautiful in its emptiness and simplicity.

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

And this is something I must accept - even if, like acid on metal, it is slowly corroding me inside.