Picture this: It’s May 2025, your last semester of college is coming to an end. You got good grades, you’re graduating, you got into grad school, everything is as it should be, except… Your girlfriend is leaving for the whole summer. I know, I know, two months might seem like nothing to some couples, but after being used to seeing each other almost every day, it seemed gargantuan to us. My amazing girlfriend had scored an internship at the University of Delaware; I was so proud of her, but we were both heartbroken.
We’re a clingy couple, I’ll admit it; so thinking about being long-distance, even if just for the summer, was horrible. But! We had a plan. When the semester ended, we packed as much quality time together as possible into the few weeks we’d have before she left. We went on dates, cooked together, had sleepovers; whatever we could do together, we did it. And it was good, it worked. We got to be together a lot during that time, and yet… our last day still found us much too soon. I’d be lying if I said I took it well — I was a mess. Looking back, it’s kind of laughable. You’d think we were saying goodbye forever, but at the time, it really felt like we were.
I had prepared, though, and I made things for her that I thought would make the wait a little easier. I made her a scrapbook filled with pictures and little letters from her friends and family, so she could feel close to us even from far away. I also prepared a little wooden box that I filled with a letter for each day we’d be apart, so it could serve as a countdown for her — and she’d have a little something to look forward to every day.
Miraculously, I was able to convince my parents to let me travel there for a week as a graduation and birthday present. Yes, she would be gone for my graduation (which I didn’t even go to), my birthday, two monthaversaries (don’t), and our first anniversary. So, this trip was truly a light amid the darkness. It fell right in the mid-way point of her internship, and it gave us something concrete to look forward to.
It was rough. Spending this time apart brought some attachment issues to the surface — something I’ve struggled with for a lot of my life. It led to some arguments, uncomfortable talks, and many, many tears. I just really missed her — she’s the best part of me, and yet she suddenly felt unknown, unreachable, untethered. I kept searching for ways to feel closer to her — texts, pictures, watching TV shows and movies together, the sound of her laugh through the phone. It wasn’t nearly the same, but it was enough to remind me that love could stretch, bend, and still hold.
Waiting was the worst part. Counting down the days, watching them pass, but still feeling it was still ages away. But then, finally, finally, it was time to go to her. It was my first time traveling on my own. I was going to an airport that I had never been to before, and it was scary. I’m an anxious person, but I did it for her.
It was somewhat of a bumpy road — finding the shuttle I’d have to take from the airport to the train station, then trying to figure out which was my train and how it all worked — but eventually, I made it to the hotel. It was a lot. I was feeling a lot. So, I kind of had a small meltdown as I waited for my girlfriend to finish her work at the laboratory, but I was finally able to make my way to her dorm. My Uber dropped me off at the wrong place, and I had to walk to find her but then, I saw her. I reached her and pulled her into a hug — we came together, became one, like a wave crashing on the shore, returning to the tide; inevitable, familiar, and exactly the way it was supposed to be.
Our week together was nothing short of a dream. We stayed in a little hotel and we spent every single moment together; we tried so many new places, we shopped, and we ate so much. It was perfect. Everything had led up to this, and it was the best week I have ever had. Our first anniversary came and went, and then it was time for me to return home. This time, saying goodbye was somehow harder than the first time.
We had such an amazing time together. We were so happy; so, it felt so much worse letting that go again. It was such a tragedy. I had to catch my train at six in the morning. We tried waiting for an Uber, but they kept cancelling on us, so we eventually decided to walk, bags and all, to the station. It was such a depressing walk. I was an anxious mess, worrying about missing my train, not really knowing where we were going, and, at the same time, dealing with the fact that I was leaving.
We barely made it to the train station, and I’d managed not to cry on the walk over. We had to go up some tiny, tiny, strange metal stairs, cross a bridge, and go down the same perilous steps in order to get to my platform. My bag was so heavy, and my girlfriend was a champ. She carried most of the weight and helped me get through the stairs with it. This whole ordeal had taken so long that we only had a couple of minutes until my train got there. I was already crying. I don’t remember when I started, probably somewhere between the third and last step; it was bad.
We were both crying and hugging each other and, despite the time, there were a few people there — all of them witnesses to our theatrics. The train got there too quickly, and I had to make my way to the doors. I was sobbing, snotty and sweaty, and I couldn’t lift my bag up on the train; it was embarrassing. My girlfriend had already left, and I had to ask a man for help. Long story long: I got on the train, switched from train car to train car, still actively crying and trying to find an empty seat. After I finally found one, I kept on crying. The. Whole. Way. There. You know, it sounds hilarious, but at the time, I was in so much pain. I’d never felt anything like it before. My heart was shattering, and I could all but hear the pieces as they fell on the carpeted floor, at the feet of total strangers.
It was all a blur after this. I went through security at the airport, found my gate, got some food, and then got on the plane home. I cried next to the old lady who sat by me on the plane, listened to some music, and just waited to touch down — all alone once more. The tide had pulled us apart again, and I was left standing on the shore, listening for the echo of her laughter in the receding waves.
What followed after that went by quicker than the rest of the summer had. I celebrated my birthday with my friends and family, my girlfriend found a way to make herself known, even from a distance, and we found a way to hang in there until August.
When she finally came back, it wasn’t the dramatic movie moment I had imagined. There were no tears, no running into each other’s arms. Just two people who’d missed each other deeply, standing there, embracing each other — a little quieter, but much stronger for it. In the end, there was nothing to fear. The distance didn’t break us; it just taught us how to find each other across it. Like the tide, we learned the rhythm of leaving and returning, the ebb and flow of holding on and letting go, yet somehow, always, always coming back to the same shore.
Picture this again: It’s December now. She’s been back for about twice as long as she was away. I hold her hand and everything feels smaller — softer, steadier, earned. The distance tested and molded us, like wind sculpting the shore, and yet, here we are, unbroken. Seventy days and a lifetime apart, and her hand still fits perfectly in mine.