Step 1. Ignore the people who say it takes half the time you dated to move on. They probably learned this from Charlotte York. Newsflash, Charlotte and Sex and the City aren’t real. Your grief is. Accept that it will ebb and flow for five-and-a-half years, almost the same length of time you dated. I promise, that’s OKAY. Save yourself the anger, anguish, and self-doubt in year three by ignoring this advice from the start.

Dear Melina,

I write this love-letter to you when I am old enough to be your grandmother, and when Grandma was my age. Time is a funny thing. It unspools before us and then folds in on itself to be carried forward into the memories of body and soul. You are eleven years old in this memory. You are a child on the cusp of womanhood, and I am a woman on the cusp of old age.

The first time that I really tell someone, the words belong to her, like me and everything else in the world around us. We are alone, and I don’t remember where the rest of our friends are or maybe we aren’t alone and all of our friends are with us but I can only ever think of her.

Dear 2016 Alissa,

To be fair, I didn’t think you’d come this far. I had no idea you would do such stupid things with twenty-three guys. Here is the gold medal for being a slut, a very good one.

Dear Past Me,

It’s your first day of college sleeping under crisp new sheets in your bed in your dorm room. You’re listening to your roommates breathing softly in the dark, two complete strangers who have been randomly picked to become your best friends, the people whom you are to navigate through this scary change with. You’re questioning the first big decision your mom has not made for you: college.

Are you are uncomfortable by what you see?
I would not be surprised.
We're trained to judge a body by what it is,
and what it is not.