It's not pleasant to fall asleep while crying. When you wake up, there's dried tear crust on your face, and you feel pathetic as you wash it off.

But at least it's a good morning. It's not raining anymore. Diffused sunlight shines into the cold room through the curtains. I sit on the bed, feeling the remnants of the minty toothpaste in my mouth. I look at my half-unpacked suitcase. My things are strewn everywhere. I'm such a terrible houseguest. Maryann must be planning way to throw me out already.

As if on cue, the door creaks open. It's Maryann.

"Oh, hey, you're awake." Maryann sounds surprised.

"Yeah." I put on a smile. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Sabine." Maryann smiles. "Come downstairs, okay? I'm making breakfast."

I nod. "Okay, thank you."

Maryann leaves. I look at the suitcase again. I sigh.

Breakfast, first. I'm eating for two.

*

Breakfast consists of boiled eggs, coffee, toasted bread with blackberry jam on it, and walnuts. Both of us love walnuts. They're the superior nut. We're laughing as we talk about things that are neither here nor there. Then Maryann brings it up.

"So. Hughes."

"I'm eating, Mary."

"I'm eating, too, Sabi, what's new?"

I roll my eyes. "One mustn't talk while eating, Mary."

"Okay, guess we're not eating anymore." Maryann says and grabs the toast right out of my hand.

"Maryann!" I protest. "Give that back! It's really good."

"No, not unless you tell me why you were crying last night."

I glare at her.

"See, I'm eating it." Maryann opens her mouth wide and slowly moves the toast towards it.

I still glare at her.

"Okay, fine." Maryann snaps. She puts the toast back on my plate. "Have your fucking toast. Don't tell me. I'll ask Hughes." She gets up from her chair.

"What is wrong with you!" I yell.

"I'm just super fucken' nosy." Maryann smiles psychotically as she picks her phone up off the coffee table.

"Fine." I say, as I relish my toast. "Ask him. He'll probably say I don't know or some oblivious fucking shite like that."

Maryann groans, rolling her blue eyes. Then I start to cry.

"Oh, god." I say through a mouthful of toast. The tears flood down my face hotly. Maryann is at my side in a moment. "Shit, again?"

"Fuck you." I mutter, but I lean into her side as she hugs me. I wipe my eyes profusely, but the tears just keep going, like a dam that has broken open after months of being held together by a Disney princess band-aid.

I'm genuinely sobbing. Like mouth-open wailing like my sailor husband died at sea sobbing. Maryann pats the side of my head. "There, there, it's okay."

And I keep crying for god knows how long. I think Maryann probably has to get to her job, doesn't she?

I take her by the hand and move her away from me, towards a nearby chair.

"Oh," I say, sniffling. Maryann and I are holding hands over the table. She brings my hand to her mouth and kisses it.

"Okay, Sabine, is this just hormones, or ... something else? Is there any way I can help? Does Hughes need to get his fucking ass beat, what's going on?"

I shake my head. "No, no. None of that. Maybe hormones, so, yes to that. Hughes didn't ... he didn't do anything. I guess. That's the problem."

"That he didn't do anything?" Maryann echoes questioningly.

I feel so sad. I can't even comprehend the depth of the angst that's pulling at my heart right now. All the years I spent putting on layers of emotional shields so that I would forget the first time my heart ever broke – and it's all just gone in the phase of a single night.

*

Picture me like this: I'm 13. My name is Sabine Bowery. I like listening to Taylor Swift and The Neighborhood. I'm a little chubby. I'm loud. I like to write. I have a few older friends. One of them is Hughes. He's 15 when we become friends. We go out a lot.

Hughes is tall, also loud, and pretty dumb. I describe him as a himbo to my friends. Hughes has a girlfriend. Actually, he has a never-ending line of girlfriends. One goes, and the other one comes in the bat of an eyelash. I only like him more and more as I grow older. He never acknowledges it. I never bring it up – except maybe once when I was high off of someone else's shitty weed.

Hughes was always weird around me. Not weird, exactly. But different. I didn't see him treat anyone else like he treated me. He treated me like his sister, his girlfriend, his best-friend – all rolled into one. I loved it. I loved being the center of his world.

He would scold me, he would mansplain politics to me and get it all wrong, he would argue with me about stupid shit, he would share his jacket with me, he would teach me how to bargain effectively. He would give me the best hugs, picking me up off my feet, he would always save me a seat, he would pull my hand into his pocket and hold it there when I forgot my gloves, he would hold my hand on the bus and ask me to fall asleep on his shoulder, he would show fake enthusiasm about all my boyfriends, he would call me first if anything happened, and expected me to do the same, and we could easily talk on our landlines for hours on end. He would fight for me, telling others to fuck off on my behalf, and I would secretly swoon every time he did that.

I loved being around him more than anything else in the world. He was truly everything to me. I liked him too much to just be his friend. I wanted more. But I didn't know what that more was. I got envious if he spent time with anyone else. I didn't want to kiss him. Okay, maybe once or twice. But I chalk that off to simple curiosity. He has a very pretty mouth, and I loved the words that came out of it. But I didn't want to be his girlfriend. I didn't know what I wanted from him. I just knew that if he left my life, I wouldn't know who I was anymore.

He did leave my life.

It wasn't a big, flashy break-up or anything. It wasn't even a break-up. I think I just stopped talking to him like I normally did at some point. And he stopped trying to coerce me into conversations, too. I don't know who changed. I think he stayed the same, pretty much. He started smoking and drinking pretty heavily at a point. Got a few new friends. But he was 17 by then, and I was still 15. I was hurt. I didn't like that he was growing older, and I felt like I wasn't. I still felt like a child. I think we both stayed the same, actually. But for some reason, we grew apart.

I've thought about it for millions and millions of minutes. But I never understood why we changed. Why we had to end. There are a dozen different reasons I could give, but none of them perfectly fit the bill.

So I decided to think of it like this – it was meant to be for only that much time.

It's a philosophical rant my best friends probably remember off the tip of their tongue because I've narrated it to them so many times.

People are defined by their loves – the relationships we form with other people around us. People who were just in our proximity, but we became crazy attached to them. I don't know how you can explain that except in terms of destiny or fate. And everything is temporary. Whether good or bad. That includes people. They will come and go. That's just how they are. I loved him. I love him. I think of him every day. Because I was so young when I met him. But he's not in my life anymore. And that's just the way it is. I have (insert name of current boyfriend or girlfriend) now. I'm happy. I hope Hughes is happy, too. Wherever he is.

And I'm 25 years old now. I'm on my way to my fucking thirties. I'm supposed to have my life set right now, or at least on the path to that. But I'm still the same.

In front of Hughes, I'm reduced to the same turbulent teenager who, I suppose, never really faded away.