A year ago, spending Saturday nights at my computer didn't make me feel like such a loser. Now if I get in before two AM, the night was a waste.

But you made it acceptable to stay in at 12 AM in the pitch black, the only light illuminating from my computer. You were a lot of words on a screen, but I loved all of those words.

It was hard going out again and meeting new people. Now, a year later, meeting another guy on Friday night is supposed to happen thinking about you is a taboo subject. But you have no idea how painful it was that first weekend. That first weekend I had to go out to a friend's house and talk to boys I didn't know, but didn't mind looking at. And the first time I kissed someone else- isn't love supposed to feel wonderful? Shouldn't a kiss get you high on life? So why did it hurt so much? So terribly much?

All I could do was miss your lips. And finally, week after week after week...the pain began to get number...and number...and number...until finally it was gone.

No, it wasn't gone. It still isn't gone, but I can trick myself into believing the pain isn't there. And even though it always will be, the only pain worse than losing a love, is losing the ability to do so.

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