A letter for my eyes only but written to you.

I look at pictures of space and my feet start to tingle. The sort of tingling that always represented home to me. You know that feeling when you’re staring at something, like dust particles floating in the air, and everything slows down for a couple of seconds? I felt that, you know? Like I could really feel the chemicals in my brain being released one by one when I looked into your eyes. That’s the moment I knew something was different about you. That something was different about us.

I told my new roommate the story about me and you and she looked at me like I was repeating ancient tales of romance. I told her how being in the same room as you always made the air around us heavy with the sort of tension that felt good. Do you ever think about the first time we met? How it felt like we knew each other from some long-ago life, but we just couldn’t figure it out? It always felt like looking into spiral galaxies whenever we caught each other’s eyes.

I’m sorry.

I don’t mean to bring up old feelings.

I know a lot has changed since then. But I still dream about you sometimes and it doesn’t tear me up on the inside, anymore. These days, I welcome dreams about you. I had a dream about you last night, you met my family and we laughed at your corny jokes. And I fell into your arms, just like old times, with my neck burrowed deep into your collarbones.

The world was spinning but we wouldn’t let each other go.

We held one another in that moment for what seemed like a lifetime.

I hope you had a dream about me last night, too. But I also hope that you’re happy. Because I’m happy.

We collapsed into each other’s lives for a reason but we also parted for a greater reason. I have no doubt that we’ll meet again. If not in this lifetime, I’m sure we’ll find each other in the next.

—By Zoé L., 20, Los Angeles