Ten Years From Now


Ten years from now, you won’t remember the night he awkwardly uttered the words “I love you” for the first time in Japanese on the steps of your college dorm. Or the sound of his voice as he greets you good morning. You won’t remember running along a dimly lit street under the rain or playing hide and seek in the grocery store. Sneaking kisses behind bookshelves in the library. Midnight drives for convenience store soft serve ice cream. Slow dancing barefoot to Coldplay’s Yellow.

You won’t remember how he’d always hold you when your world felt like crumbling apart. How his voice would always calm down your storms. Or how he promised he’d always stay despite how difficult it got. The blanket to your thunder. Tomorrow wrapped in promises.  Your person, the one who accepted all of you — body, mind and soul. Who loved you despite your flaws and ghosts.

Ten years from now, you won’t remember the fights and going to sleep, pillow drenched in tears. Or crying in the bathtub, begging him to answer the phone. The day you returned his hoodie and you both broke down, choking at the word goodbye. That night you sat on the grass and promised you’d stay friends. You won’t remember the sound of your heart breaking the first time you saw them together. The tiny stabs every time you come across pictures of them on social media. The missed birthdays and holidays. The future you had planned slipping through your hands. The silence, the cold.

Ten years from now, you’ll forget the pain attached to memories with him. One day, ten years from now, you’ll look back and understand why it had to end. How it led you to who you are today. And you will only feel warmth and gratitude in remembering.