I've never been one to admit to being lonely, at least, not to others.

I eat myself up inside as I struggle to find the balance of being independent and being lonely.

Last night, I escaped the confined walls of my room and hopped in my car. I drove aimlessly through streets I didn't recognize until I reached the darkest, longest stretch of pavement I could find. I slowly accelerated and flew past blocks of darkness before realizing I was at UBC. I drove past the Chan Centre and thought of the times I've passed by here during the day with him and started to tear up.

I turned my car around and headed back to that dark stretch of road. This time, driving 40km. I let myself cry as I drive, not knowing how to stop myself, or the car. 20 minutes later, I was at the dyke again, like all the other nights I end up there half dreaming that he'd be there waiting for me. It was empty again. I thought back to the nights where we'd drive there to look at the stars and the moon through his sun roof. I'd hold on to his hand. Without realizing it, I reached over to the seat next to me and found nothing. I cried silently whispering his name.

I don't know if I'll ever love again.