It’s the fifth time I’ve been to the hospital this month. It’s not because I’m terminally ill—or maybe that’s the reason. Maybe I am, actually, terminally ill. If that’s the case, then it’s your fault. Whenever I see you my heart beat speeds up and my stomach twists itself into knots and I find it hard to speak. But whenever I’m away from you my heart feels like it’s dying and I have no motivation to live and I can barely breathe.   --   “So doctor, is