She knows me like I know myself. She keeps me inline. Tells me what to do when I'm not sure. I have searched every room trying to find an escape, and then I find one. And run. I run, I don't look back, because I realise it's harder to breath when she isn't around me. It's harder to sleep when she isn't next to me. It's harder to choose when she isn't whispering the answer in my ear. It's harder to love when it's not her I love. She knows me like I know myself, that's why I run from the exit as fast as I can. She tells me she loves me, she says she understands. But I don't think she does. I'm not ready to leave her; I don't think I ever will be. She asked me once, if I thought we would get married and have children together, I answered honestly – no, because our love wasn't like everyone else's. We are injured, bruised, hurt. We aren't a conventional couple. We find it hard to accept love. But there is no doubt in my mind. I. LOVE. HER.