Exactly a year ago today, March 27th, I found out that you gave me herpes. It’s also the day I found out you were in love with me. Last night you texted me for reasons still unbeknownst to me and we have a very inconclusive chat. I thought today would be a whole hell of a lot harder than it actually was. I went to work and threw myself completely into slaying lattes and cappuccinos and americanos for six hours. Six whole hours that could’ve passed without getting the chance to dwell on thoughts of you and I. But there were moments I inevitably drifted towards what this day means. One of my regulars came through my drive through today and threw me for a real fucking loop. She and I had talked about how I always comment on me loving her nail polish and about my gnarly girls tattoo and she called me a “true feminist” before we high fived over girl power and she drove away with her two chocolate chip cookies and iced vanilla latte. She called me out last week and asked why there was pain behind my eyes. I broke down and told her about the split. She encouraged me to be strong during this break up and told me how “most men can’t handle a whole lotta woman”. Although I may see this lady for no more than 30 minutes a week, she’s been someone I can lean on. While distracting myself with work today, I see my friend pulling up to the window with her hand out of her car. She’s holding out two bottles of her favorite nail polish colors. She said they were a gift to brighten my day because after she sees me, she goes home to paint her nails and wonder how I’m doing. I broke down to her again but this time to thank her for genuinely caring about some random 22 year old barista she isn’t even on a first name basis with. You said one of the reasons you had to leave is the lack of love I give to the people around me. It’s cool knowing just how wrong you are.