Most nights, I have dinner with Loneliness. We sit across from each other, silent, each absorbed in our own thoughts.

Sometimes, I sit with Anger. She bashes her hands against the countertop, screams like the world is ending. All I can do is cover my ears and resist the urge to scream like she does.

Other nights, I sit with Depression. Those nights are the worst, as everything that I eat is tasteless and I wonder why I'm even eating at all.

But, tonight. Tonight I had dinner with You. You didn't see the loneliness, anger, and depression sitting in the seat across from me. You didn't even blink twice as you sat down and took an already taken seat.

Yet, it didn't matter. As you smiled at me, your eyes crinkling up at the corners, and introduced yourself, I hoped...really, really, really hoped... that this wasn't just a single occurence. That this night was not just another night in a long stream of bland, monotonous nights.

My dinner guests were not replaced by you as you sat down. They'll be back. They always return. But you seemed to frighten them away, if even for that single hour.

I'd love it if you joined me for dinner again.

I'm fluent in 6 languages and there is no combination of words between those languages that is capable of describing how I feel about her.

2 weeks before I turned 12 years old, a skinny little 5-foot-tall, 11-year-old blond boy with a bowl-cut walked into my life.  He was extremely awkward.  My friends all decided to pick on him.  But I know how awful it is to be bullied...I had to leave my school once because of it.  So my friends all left me for not joining in, and I guess that's how I became friends with that little bowl-cut boy.  He was extremely awkward.  But hey, I was too.  What they failed to see is that he was also very talented and kind.

That little boy turns sixteen in 6 days.  He is now 6 feet tall and his bowl cut days are long gone, but sometimes when I look at him, I still see that same little 11 year old.  We still laugh at some of the same jokes we laughed at in middle school.  We still sing stupid songs and split snacks like we did in middle school.  We still know all the people that bullied us in middle school, and still do all the same things that they bullied us over.  We have grown to be pretty close friends.  He has been my classmate, teammate, shoulder to lean on, and faithful friend for almost 5 years.  And I fall for him a little more each day, just like I did in middle school.  He doesn't have a clue.

Moving on doesn't have to mean forgetting or pretending it didn't happen.

It did happen.

But it's time for me to accept that our paths aren't meant to cross again.

And moving on doesn't mean that I can't think about you sometimes, and think about how it used to be.

But it means that those memories are in the past, not hopes for the future.

And lastly, moving on doesn't mean that a part of me won't always love you.

But it means that I can start a new chapter in my life where I'm the main character, not you.

i was on the bus, head on your shoulder, hands on your lap. it was the end of a long day at work and all i wanted to do was to sleep. your fingers started tracing outlines at the back of my hand. 

you checked if i was awake.
i pretended to be asleep.

i then realised that those outlines werent just random strokes, they were letters. words.

"hello," you wrote.

a few letters here and there that i couldnt string, and then it hit me -

"ich liebe dich"




You have to let me let you go.

It ended. I suggested we go until it ended, and he accepted. He told me it reached it's expiration date, like I was a sour gallon of milk. He switched to orange juice the next week. 

*checks when you were last online to make sure you're getting enough sleep*

We met at a funeral. Not the most romantic place for a chance meeting but I was there accompanying my mom while you tagged along with yours. The deceased was my mom's former office mate, and she was your mom's friend from college.

I'm not sure what drew us together but there we were, mourning someone we both barely knew. As I consoled my mom, I noticed you looking my way, giving the same look of desperation to get out of this place as I had. I remember giving you a smile, and the rest they say is history.

Fast forward to now, as we try to build our lives together.

It's strange how it had to take someome to pass away for us to find each other. But that's the funny thing about death: It reminds us to live.