A year ago, I met someone. Conversations flew by – I’m always the one to sleep early and I caught myself going to bed around 3 a.m. I would wake up invigorated, fresh AF. Coffee tasted even better in the mornings. I was working like crazy, living my life. And he showed up, felt like everything fell into place and things were great.

We met – and I still have a laugh when I remember I took him to my favorite bar and all of my friends were there. Literally, everyone was there. But, what was an awkward date in the beginning, became a promise of lighter days by the end of it. With a desire of going to the supermarket, drunk.

That first kiss still resonates on my lips.

It was a year ago, and I can still remember your smell. The gentle touch of your fingers on my back. The excitement of going away for the weekend after just one week together. What were we thinking?

I would cook every night and we would share a bottle of wine. You did the dishes while I put together your lunch for the next day. French music would be on and we talked – about our days. Your daughter. Our lives before we met. I still sing – Je ne veux plus revoir tes yeux verts ailleurs – from time to time.

I never wrote you a letter. For some time, I thought you would come back. I thought we could make things work with your life and be together. A year went by and I never heard from you again. How are you?

I know it sounds so premature and weird, but I love you. Still do – I don’t believe love is something disposable that you just toss away and forget. You gave me the best time I could have in 2019. Too bad it was not meant to be.

I hope you are happy. And I hope that, from time to time, the tips of your fingers remember how my skin felt.