I knew this feeling, the 2 a.m. loneliness that I'd practically invented.

But even more so, it reminded me that this was all really happening. Stanford. The end of the summer. The beginning of my real life. It was no longer just creeping up, peeking over the horizon, but instead lingering in plain sight.

In the end, though, maybe it's not how you reach a place that matters. Just that you get there at all.

Odd how it was so easy for a stranger to assume such familiarity. Especially when those who were supposed to know you best often didn't, not at all.

The first boy was always the hardest.

I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell anyone. As long as I didn't say it aloud, it wasn't real.

After everything that happened, how could I miss him? But I did, I did.