To the Boy Who Set My World on Fire,

I wish I could say I never think of you anymore, but I often do. I wish I could say that the memories of you no longer hurt, but even now as these words spill onto the page there is a faint aching in my chest. I wish I could say that you've faded from my mind and that each moment we were together no longer plays vividly in my head when it's 2 AM and sleep evades me, but it seems that you are so deeply engraved in me that time has done little to erase you.

The memories I have of you are warm and sunny, like the summer sun we laughed under. They are bright and colorful; I see you in my mind's eye just the way you were, so clearly it's as if you were here a few hours ago. However, as plain and clear as the memories of having you are those of losing you. I can still hear your voice when you told me we couldn't do this anymore, you weren't sure you could survive it. Tears welled up in my eyes but I swallowed them down so that you would never see how much ripping I had to do to remove you from me. Anxiety ate me alive as my eyes darted nervously around any public space, afraid of the agony of seeing you. For a while, I blamed the reluctance to get out of bed on the grief that accompanies a goodbye like ours, but days turned into weeks and my sorrow only deepened. Friends came and pulled me out of bed, pleading for me to just be okay again. Soon enough I realized it had been a month since I laughed and I missed myself almost as fiercely as I missed you. Depression became my new normal; I walked around under a blanket of misery that weighed on me heavier than if it was formed of lead. The insecurities and pains you calmed in me screamed even louder and I drowned in them. I learned that I ached not only from the loss of you, but from the way I could no longer recognize myself.

Writing always helped. I scribbled notes, both to you and about you, on every scrap of paper I could find. They are stored in a notebook I never open anymore but still save, just in case some day in the future I need to be reminded of what we had and what it did to me. Through writing I learned that while I curled up in my bed in the dark of night, my heart raw and bleeding onto empty pages and Tumblr posts, I was not nearly as alone as I felt. Somewhere out there other people felt the same bone-deep emptiness I was experiencing.

I flung myself in a thousand different directions when I no longer had you. I sought solace in the wilderness and the arms of friends. I found comfort in words, whether I scribbled them senselessly onto a page trying to grasp what I felt or someone else published them in their own unique style. I let myself relax into the arms of my Savior, the One who created me and knows me and loves me even when I am emptied and aching and doing anything to feel again. It was weeks, probably months later when I woke up and instead of feeling your absence I felt hungry again. The blanket I carried with me became more manageable as others stooped beneath its substantial weight and carried it with me. The aching slowly faded and I could go hours without its looming presence. In time, hours turned to days which turned to weeks without missing you. I laughed again, a deep, from the soul laugh. It sounded so sweet to my ears.

See, losing you felt a lot like losing myself, and losing myself nearly killed me, but it didn't. I learned to stand in the fire of depression that threatened to burn me alive and let it forge me instead. I found my passions and let them flow through me; I became the artist you always thought I could be. I discovered that blood and river water flow equally through my veins and that cracks in hearts create room for glorious wildflowers to grow. I learned that there is nothing that puts my pains in perspective like mountains jutting into a star-lit night. I danced in the rain and found a new appreciation for the earth-quaking power of a summer thunderstorm. I figured out that not all love is created equal, that some types of love look nothing like the real thing but the untrained heart feels them just as deeply.

In burying my relationship with you I buried a version of myself that craved your acceptance. It took a long time to keep that girl in the ground, but now I look back on her and I don't even recognize who she is. I rose from the ashes of the fire you set, a phoenix of passions and wonder and freedom. I used to be afraid that I would never find anyone who loves me like you did, but now I look eagerly forward to a day where, perhaps, someone loves me like they should.

So here's to you, the Boy Who Set My World on Fire - thank you. Thank you for loving me, even though it hurt you to do so. Thank you for expecting more out of me than I knew how to give. Thank you for standing up for both of us and telling me that the last time I left had to be the last time. Thank you for recognizing that you deserved more than the flimsy way I loved you. Thank you for letting me walk away even though I so wanted you to fight.

I lost you, but I gained something so much better: Me.