One year ago today, 365 days, 8,760 hours, it doesn’t seem that long when you’re looking back at it all. The last time I saw you was a year ago in my city, San Francisco. It feels like just yesterday the memory is so vivid. We don’t talk anymore but I’ll never forget the last time.

It was windy, you were trying to blow up one of those inflatable beach couches. You kept running in a circle and I remember watching you. I was thinking “wow behind those buff beautiful caramel skin arms, you’re really not that coordinated.” (Haha) I remembered how imperfect you really were. You weren’t what I am usually attracted to, you were nerdy and clumsy but genuine, with everything that had happened in the past few years, I had forgotten all of that. I forgot how everyone saw you as a perfect human that summer, but I saw you as a clumsy little boy who had never had his heart broken. Who was so eager to please. You were human, but before the first heartache human. You were refreshing to watch, the way you fearlessly went after me.

Now here we are, 5 years later, on my favorite beach. Ocean Beach, I’ve been dumped here by men before you, I’ve swam here with some of my best friends, both at night and during the day, and I’ve slept here, lost my phone here, and my dignity. All while navigating my life up until this point. This point where I just officially lost the boy I thought I would marry and have lots of beautiful babies with. I lost you 2 weeks before this point for good. You called me after my last college class to tell me it wasn’t what you thought, that I wasn’t actually the one that you would be happy spending your life with.

Once you failed to inflate the beach couch I laughed awkwardly. Behind the pain my heart felt, I really was okay with where we were. I really wanted to go to Thailand and knew I couldn’t go willingly if we were together. I knew I’d be a shitty therapist if I was constantly dealing with our instability. We talked to each other as we were walking on egg shells. Genuinely trying to be friends after everything the last five years had brought us. It was awkward and different, and we both new in our hearts that we would never be capable of being friends. You were so lost, the emptiness behind your eyes was concerning. But I was just starting to find myself and my voice as a therapist, we were both in completely different places. You were lost, I looked in your soul, through you, like no one else ever could and I saw how broken you’d become. But you wouldn’t let me in, you wouldn’t let me help, so I had to let you go.

You dropped me off at the airport and we shared an awkward hug and goodbye. You said next time we hung out you promised not to be so boring, but I knew I’d never see you again. Once again, in the stale Bay Area air, like we had been a year before that, at an airport we parted ways. Saying goodbye to you was something I’d grown accustom to, it’s more comforting than saying hello.

We were just a couple kids truly, madly, deeply in love. There was an innocence to our love that we will never share with anyone else because of how broken we became, how broken we caused one another to be. Regardless, every time I think of you I will always think of my reckless youth, how bravely I fell in love, how fearlessly I trusted, and how honest I was with my feelings.

I used to think that writing about how much our relationship broke me was weak, I used to run away from facing how broken you left me. But now I realize that this is who I am, I share what I’m feeling so that someone else can feel less alone. I share what I’m feeling to heal. And maybe I’m only talking to one person, a single audience, but I’m okay with that. Just like the starfish. I’m okay with just helping one, even if that one is you.