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?
But whichever form it took it brought with it, in those moments of bitter anguish, such a desperate surge of hope that it was almost untouchable, and flitted away like a golden butterfly into the bright blue sky - beautiful, unreachable and completely transistent.
At what point do you give up - decide enough is enough? There is only one answer really. Never.
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.
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.
How can something so wrong feel so right?