Throughout the ordeal, I learned that getting mad was easier than being sad. Anger was something I could control. I could settle into an easy rhythm of blame and hate. Focus my energy on something than the ache in my heart.

But I am learning that perfection isn't what matters. In fact, it's the very thing that can destroy you if you let it.

You’ll never regret being a good friend.

It always takes two. For relationships to work, for them to break apart, for them to be fixed.

I don't convey that I can be moody or a perfectionist or that I'm a nervous person, but I am all those things. It's just not going to shine through when you're posting a picture.

Sure, we were friends who exchanged soulful glances, friends who slept in a bed filled with sexual tension, friends who found any excuse to touch, but I worried that we'd never take that perilous leap of faith toward becoming a real couple, a permanent team.

There is no grief like heartbreak.