I carry that old letter in the deepest corner of my heart. It had stayed around when you left me to fall apart. It’s just an old faded letter, folded several times, my name quickly scrawled on the front of one side. It's been two whole years since it was written in black ink and love, and it's all I have left of what used to be us.

Most people remember their first love in high school, and I am not the exception. The whole thing was a roller coaster I didn’t realize I was getting on until after I stumbled off. I was filled with adrenaline and excitement until everything came to an abrupt stop and it was over, and as crazy as it was, I knew as soon as the sick feeling passed I’d want to ride it again. The relationship escalated faster than I had intended, I had never known another human being could make me so happy. It all ended fast too, the days and months with and without him blur together in my mind and sometimes I’m convinced the whole thing was a dream. All that I have left of the relationship and that amazing, heartbreaking, life changing, year is a letter. I remember receiving this letter as clear as day.

A bell rang obnoxiously somewhere above and immediately high schoolers flood the hallways like horses leaping from their pens in the Kentucky Derby. I winced from the sound and brace for what is about to come. The race is on to find friends, gather books, and get to the next class within six minutes. It is like rush hour, Christmas Eve, and Black Friday at your local department store, all at once. For a stranger, the scene is chaotic and overwhelming, though it is just another day here. Weaving in and out through the masses, my eyes would desperately scan each face. Finally, in the distance I see that smile, my absolute favorite one. My heart and feet would start working faster and faster simultaneously while I couldn’t contain the smile spreading across my face.  

He shuffled along silently through the packed hallways, his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans like the secrets he would eventually try to conceal. He radiated a mystery, though one you would tempted to read. He moved deliberate and smooth, coincidently like the pick up lines he used. Scanning the crowd of people, he absentmindedly ran a hand through his too long brown hair that matched his sad eyes impeccably. Catching a glimpse of me, those eyes would soften at the edges while a smile couldn’t help but break open on his face like flowers springing up from the ground. Making him happy and seeing his smile at the time was the only thing I cared about.

I remember I held that piece of paper, folded many times, tightly as if it were a fistful of the most precious jewels. It was only a letter, but it meant the world to me. Though it held pillars of hollow promises, it was romantic and simple and I loved every word. For the next few weeks I reread it over and over till I nearly had memorized it like scripture. There was a skip in my step and my eyes were always bright and shining. It was a time of euphoria, right before what would be the worst summer of my life. The realities of life caught up to me and unfortunately we had to say our goodbyes, which was difficult. I remember thinking the world was ending and, even more foolishly, that I would never be happy again. I have not spoken to the writer of that letter in a year, but here I am. When it is winter and you are cold, it seems so impossible to imagine yourself warm again, but a few months go by and the summertime smiles on your life and you are so warm you do not even remember what cold is and most of all you are happy. Time does heal all wounds and I no longer look back on that impactful chapter of my life with bitterness. I truly hope that wherever that person is, and whoever he is with, he is happy.

I carry that letter now, and still read it from time to time to remind myself of the silver lining. I read it to be reminded of not how everything came crashing down, but the way I felt when our castle in the sky was being built. I choose to move on from the days of silence and instead remember how I smiled while that teenage love song was playing. From this experience, and from receiving that letter, I understand now. I realize that love is the best thing in this bitter world, to love and to be loved are the things worth living for. Everybody tends to lock themselves away and hide, trying not to get hurt, but it really is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. It is better to walk out with a few scrapes and a story to tell, than to always remain unscathed from life. I have so much love in my heart for people and I am no longer afraid of being hurt again. I still try to throw around kindness generously, like colorful strips of confetti, because life isn’t about what you get, but about what you give. That old letter is a simple reminder that while you’re busy giving love out, sometimes you get lucky enough to keep a handful of it for yourself.