Each year I wrote you something.

It wasn't always big, and obvious.

Fireworks didn't always go off, but I'd always hoped you'd still listen.

I'd write when I saw how happy you were when your smile could fill up a room. I'd watch the way you relaxed your shoulders, sat back, and did that thing with your hair that meant you were good, relaxed.

And I loved it.

You get so excited about new things, upcoming plans, and exciting adventures. And I don't blame you, who doesn't. It's something to look forward too, to count down to. To know that even if you're sitting at your nine to five job, in a couple days, a few hours, and some sleepless nights, you'll be off. On some sort of adventure, or taking a break from reality.

I think taking a break was always good for you. I wouldn't always write then, because I wanted you to relax. To unwind, and let go. To sort out your life, and recenter.

But I know those breaks didn't always do the trick.

I'd try to reach out to you when I saw you were going through a tough time, major anxiety, or stress. Before a horrible day, or in the middle of your chaos. Because I hated to see how you would treat yourself in those times.

The lack of attention you'd give yourself.

The strain.

Or emotionless stare you give when you don't want to talk.

When you're done, and you know that no one can help. But I would hurt for you. I'd hurt seeing you degrade yourself. To watch your harm all the fun and joy you brought. You'd ruin your smile with some sort of frown, and replace your eyes with a baseball cap to hide your face.

I wouldn't see you walk by on your usual route, because instead, you were off avoiding society. Placing headphones in your ears as if that would cover up the noise of what was going on. Because you were hurting, and I tried to tell you that, that was okay.

I tried to tell you, that your breakup didn't have to define you. And that though you tried to hide, and lock up all the good, people were still there. People who love you, people who care.

That you could hide in a shadow, but there's still light in the room. And nothing has to be done alone.

I loved writing about it afterward when you would realize it. When all was okay with the world again.

I hope you know I was there, in each word and sentence.

Because I did see it all, I heard you crying when you didn't think anyone heard, and I could tell when your eyes were only covered with happiness, but there was no real joy inside. I saw the pain, I saw the ugly, the destructive, the good, the great, and the wonderful. Because I was there.

For every 365 days, I was here. Telling you, over and over again. Each year, life changes, and seasons end, but you're still living and breathing. And that's always worth celebrating.