I went to Alan’s birthday party last night, which consisted of a lot of drinking. Mostly, he was drinking, in the grand tradition of birthday dry-heaving. The whole time I kept wanting to take care of him, make sure he was alright, and get him home in good shape. But then I realized that those things were not my responsibilities anymore. Four years of caring about his every choice has engrained in me a desire to protect him still. I know we’re not together anymore, but I can’t help but want to make sure that he is well and happy.

At times, I feel so guilty about our break-up. I was the one who got the ball rolling, who voiced my uncertainty and restlessness. He told me that he cried about us and that he still thought we’d get back together. Things have gotten better between the two of us and we’ve managed to move on quite a bit. But as happy as I am now with the new boy, I can’t help but still feel responsible in a way for Alan. Does that feeling ever go away?

It hurts to look at him because I remember all of the stupid things we laughed about, our dumb inside jokes, the way we would kiss goodbye when he dropped me off for the night, the way he could make me smile. It’s not that I want those things again; it just makes me sad to think that someone I was so incredibly close with, who knew—still knows—me inside and out, will eventually drift out of my life.