“We are five year olds in the playground again, you are chiming, 'Who do you love who do you love who do you love?' My cheeks are stained so red they feel like berries on a summer day. I cannot look at you. I stare at the hole in my socks and fiddle with my hands, I wonder how the sky looks like in o…”— Azra T., 5000letters.tumblr.com