We used to love. Those old memories came back to me when I stood in front of the beach. We used to love coming here often together and have a date. When other kids love hanging out in the town areas, we love hanging out here to enjoy the sea breeze and the sound of the waves.

He used to enjoy sitting on the sand, looking at the sea afar from us with a peaceful smile which I loved a lot. He said it was beautiful, just like me. 

We’d have identical stuffs; from head to toe just like any other couples. He used to complain about how disgusting it was and that he don’t want to wear them. But he still wore them, because I wanted him to and because he actually wanted to. 

Days being together was fun, enjoyable, heartwarming and ‘honeymoon’ was the only word I could use to describe the both of us. 

Three years later, we splitted. There were no true reasons of why we broke up, it just happened. And that was when everything changed. 

I heard he moved. To somewhere far, somewhere I hadn’t believe and trusted he will be at. I cried. I was devastated. I thought I could move on, because maybe we didn’t love that much in the first place, maybe we weren’t supposed to be together. Maybe because we were young. There were many reasons I told myself of why I should let this go, but it went worst. 

My mom said it was time for me to move out of this hell hole, that this place made me thought of the things I don’t want to recall. I moved, and I moved to somewhere I didn’t expect myself to land at — California.

At the foreign land and with the little english that I taught myself, I thought I couldn’t survive in this land but I will learn how to; I thought I was strong, for a 18 year ol