I listen to “our songs” over and over again, as I try to wrap my brain around this new reality, and try to remember what life was like a year ago.

Looking back, I used to say that there was one night between us that changed everything. Together, we altered my entire mental state, taking my train of thought off of its traditional track and sending it in a direction that it never would have taken before you.

There was a lot of pain that came with our decision, and for months I was encouraged to move on. The only problem with moving on is that now, I’m living as if it never happened, and I can’t remember the definition of love anymore.

I wonder what you’d think if you knew that I write letters to him. Whether it was by accident or design, he’s dead. Maybe you’d tell me to move on again. Maybe you have your own box of letters. Maybe you’d rather not talk about it, because you understand how I feel, and more so.

You won’t make me forget him too.

No matter what you think, the fact remains that I’ve spent the most important months of my life looking backwards. It’s time to make choices, do things, go places…..

The world keeps spinning no matter how much I scream for it to stop. I’m drowning in a sea of questions with only one absolute left to hold me up: us.


I can’t remember the definition of love anymore, because my old ideas were riddled in martyrdom and self-sacrifice. When my Bible teacher asked me, there are only a few words I can still hear myself saying in response, and they cast a new color over everything I’d said before them. “…even if that person will never love you back.”

I didn’t expect you to love me back. I hope you realize that every time I say that “I love you more.” I kept on loving you even when doing so was pointless.

In the middle of all of this, you taught me that I would learn the most about myself when I’m at my worst. Misery loves my company, and I always leave him a better person in the end. I don’t have to fear pain anymore. That was the greatest gift you gave me.

Or maybe that’s just the dopamine talking.

We’re not the same people that we were on that day. We don’t look like them, anyway. It could be that we just didn’t realize who we were until we found each other and had someone to make us look in the mirror and see ourselves for the first time.

The hardest thing in my life right now is realizing that people look up to me. Now that I’ve learned to see myself, I can see everything. I’m not any better then anyone else, and a person bent on becoming like me will only ever trade one set of problems for another. I can’t stand someone telling me that I saved their life, because if they really knew everything about mine, they wouldn’t have taken a moment out of theirs to speak to me. I can understand why you cringed every time I made the same statement to you now.

My box of letters filled up a lot faster then it was supposed to. I’m not sure what to do about that. The only person I ever talk to your son about anymore is you, and now that you’re mine I should be able to say whatever I want to your face. It isn’t quite the same, though. I want him to know who his father is, and somehow this makes me feel like he does… although my representation probably isn’t the most accurate.
It’s not that I don’t see the bad in you, it’s that I know the bad things in life can easily be used for good.



I can’t remember the definition of love anymore. I don’t think I necessarily need remember, because I’ve found a new definition that explains it better then any string of words that I could have put into an essay, spoken in front of an audience, or tried to use to explain myself to the cynics we pass on a day to day basis. I only need one word, which will explain away every move I’ve made since my affections were first born, too long ago to remember now.


Love (Noun): you.