There was a sense of fear at the beginning. The good kind of fear that makes your stomach hurt and your head spin. The good kind of fear that rapidly dissolved to become something new, something much more paralyzing.
Your third night is when the new fear sets in. The type of fear you have when it’s the happiest moment of your life. The fear of ending. The fear of going home without him.
As the New York happy hours and the New Jersey mornings become a regular occurrence, so does the constant sense of what’s to come. You are both temporary. What will the future hold for two twenty-year-olds who live 2,320 miles apart?
They tell you to cherish the now, to ignore the fear, to enjoy it as it is, to worry about it later.
Worry about it later is exactly what you will do.
It is said that love conquers all. Love conquers fear. To you, love and fear are birds of a feather. Your love is rooted in fear. You’re forced to accept one since you so deeply crave the other.
The sweet three months in New York with him are the happiest you’ve been. The three months are the most scared you’ve been. Crying on the F train because you’ve never felt so loved. Crying because you know what is coming. Crying because you thought you knew what was coming.
Your nights together become blurred. One long supercut. Partly because you spend every moment with him. Maybe because your brain is preparing your most meaningful relationship to be a memory to hold.
You are scared because you can’t live without him. You are scared because he can’t live without you. You are scared because there is so much left unknown.
The fear of your last night together lingers. The night you stay up letting out the feelings of summer all at once. You push through the fear and become vulnerable, telling him how you feel, how you can’t live without him, that he is your first and only love.
Your last day is the strongest. You drop him off. His last few moments on your coast. So scared of heartbreak, but your heart is already broken. Now there is nothing you can do but be scared.