Yesterday, I was seriously considering a full reset. A new phone, a new number, and preferably, a one-way ticket to somewhere tropical for three months of pretending none of this exists.

I thought about deactivating all my accounts, getting rid of everything in my apartment that reminded me of last year (including you, the Ingwerer bottle I’ve somehow turned into décor), cutting my hair, and finally throwing out that jacket that spent a little too long in his apartment and still somehow smells like his closet.

I even daydreamed about disappearing somewhere remote enough that I wouldn’t run into a single one of his clones. Because they’re everywhere, including my dreams. 

I wanted to stop dreaming, actually, so he wouldn’t show up there either. And when that failed, I did what every modern woman does in moments of delusional empowerment: I considered getting on dating apps. You know, distract myself with those thrilling conversations; “Where are you from?” and “Why did you move here?” Riveting.

I was hyperventilating at the idea that no matter where I’d go or what I’d do, I wasn’t going to be able to escape or run. Because I tried that. I have been trying that for months. It was easy at first, with time it only got harder as things kept intensifying.

But underneath all that noise and running and blocking and deleting, there’s this love. This irrational, uninvited, unexplainable love that refuses to leave. It isn’t logical, and honestly, I don’t want it to be. Because how can it be?

Then yesterday, on my way to work, just when I was thinking of more ways to run, I found a single piece of confetti from Fasnacht (nearly three years old) hiding in the pocket of the jacket I wore that night. If I remember correctly, I put it there on purpose. Because that night, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see him again. I wasn’t ready then, but I wanted to remember, because somehow, I already knew he was special. And just like that, that tiny piece of confetti softened me. It made me stop running.

Later that evening, I put on a random episode of The Big Bang Theory. Howard gave Bernadette a star necklace.

I used to wear a star necklace. I remembered the girl who found hers in a mall in Bulgaria, texted him a photo, and said, “Look what I found! I finally found one!” I hadn’t worn it in months because it reminded me of him. But I also remembered I loved star necklaces long before I ever loved him. So I put it on again.

This morning, I woke up with love in my heart, not for him, but for life. For the first time in a while, I didn’t want to run. I just wanted to stay. Because when I run, I feel negative, joyless, and disconnected. When I stay, when I accept that this thing, whatever it is, exists beyond my control, I feel peace.

Maybe I’ve been the one giving meaning to the reminders, seeing them as signs to flee instead of moments to feel. Maybe they’re not there to haunt me, maybe they’re just reminders of something that mattered. Something that doesn’t have to be erased to stop hurting.

Because every time I run, the reminders multiply, until they finally soften me again. It’s a cycle I know too well, even if I don’t understand it. And maybe I don’t need to. Maybe acceptance isn’t understanding. Maybe it’s just saying it is what it is, and I’m okay with it.