.

"As much as I struggled not to think of him, I did not struggle to forget. I worried, late in the night, when the exhaustion of sleep deprivation broke down my defenses, that it was all slipping away. That my mind was a sieve, and I would some day not be able to remember the precise color of his eyes, the feel of his skin, or the texture of his voice. I could not think of them, but I must remember them. Because there was just one thing that I had to believe to be able to live – I had to know that he existed. That was all. So long as he existed. Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget."