I've never seen anyone sleep with their head hanging off the back of a wooden chair before - was the couch not comfortable enough for you?

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

As the light begins to intensify, so does my misery, and I wonder how it is possible to hurt so much when nothing is wrong.

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.

At the age of five she has already come to terms with one of the life's harshest lessons: that the world isn't fair.

Even though I'm surrounded by pupils, there is the invisible screen screen between us, and behind the glass wall I am screaming - screaming in my own silence, screaming to be noticed, to be befriended, to be liked.

How can something so wrong feel so right?