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I am overcome by a feeling of complete detachment. I am a mere object to these people. I am barely human any more.
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Lochie. The boy I once loved. The boy I still love. The boy I will continue to love, even when my part in this world is over too.
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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.
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It's horrible being ashamed of someone you care about; it eats away at you. And if you let it get to you, if you give up the fight and surrender, eventually that shame turns to hate.
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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.
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If I move, if I speak, if I so much as blink, I'm going to lose this battle.
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And I know how he feels–it’s so good it hurts.