Your entire friendship plays over and over again in your mind. From the very first moment you met, when you both were young and still naive enough not to fear the future, until things changed. Inevitably, you think of your relationship. Of how happy she made you. And you know you made her happy too, at least in the beginning. You remember when you fell in love with her. There wasn’t a single defining moment when you knew. It was a million and one little things; like when her hair would brush your arm, you’d get tingles up and down your spine. How her smile would leave you high for hours, the way she laughed, how her hand would rest casually on your shoulder and you wanted to kiss her so badly you began to shake. This is what you choose to think about when your friends insist you leave the hospital to be in your own bed. Instead of sleeping, you stare at the ceiling and make yourself recall every moment. You don’t want to forget anything, just in case.

You remember once you were finally a couple, how well you fit. Not just during love making, although you fit pretty well in that department too, but everywhere else. The kitchen. You would cook and she would stand over your shoulder, wrapping her long arms tightly around your waist, placing tiny kisses along your bare neck and collarbone. She’d laugh when you’d warn her if she didn’t stop that you would swing her over her shoulder and dinner would burn. The sheer absurdity of that image would make you both laugh. You remember how gorgeous she looked first thing in the morning, especially when you would wake and turn over to find her hazel eyes fixed upon yours, dark and drunk with the sex you’d had the night before and how hot her voice was, still raspy with sleep. You remember how she’d tried to teach you to play tennis, knowing fully well what a klutz you were and her horror when you twisted your ankle. She’d waited on you hand and foot that weekend, camping out on the couch with you, armed with pints of Phish Food and DVDs.

This is the stuff that makes you smile. Your mind cannot help but go to darker places, though. The same scenes were on repeat in your head when she broke up with you. If you could only take back asking her to move in with you, if only you hadn’t pushed her before she was ready. You know you smothered her and your break-up was your fault and your fault alone. You remember her expression when she told you it was over. How the devestation on her face must have mirrored your own. How her apology came out as barely a whisper, how when you tried to kiss her, she stepped away from you. Even thinking about it makes you ache, but you have to remember. It occurs to you one night, after you’ve finished having a good long cry, the kind that makes your throat close and your eyes feel raw and used, that you’ve overlooked one very important detail on what you thought had been the worst night of your life. You were not the only one who was crying.