At first, I was writing about falling in love. A love that feels like fresh air after suffocating endlessly. With him I fell so fast despite my reservations. It felt like fate, like he was the one. I wrote about being in love until it turned into loss.

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Then I wrote of the grief and sadness that comes with the heartache of losing someone you thought you would spend your life with. I wrote of how humbling love can be. In the blink of an eye you can lose everything. It was somehow both a slap in the face and the most substantial experience of depersonalization

I have ever felt.

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I wrote and I wrote until I got to the other side and no longer felt such a vast emptiness. I wrote until I became indifferent. I wrote until one day I realized that six months had gone by without me noticing. I wrote until missing him

no longer consumed me.