"I promise I'll call you every day. You can bet on it."

That was one year ago, to this day.
Three hundred sixty-five days ago, he moved to New York City to go to university, leaving me here in California; little ol' me, going to Stanford.

Yup.

I planned on transferring to NYU; it was a reputable school, I saw no harm in it. If anything, I'd be closer to him.

But he knew that it was my dream to go to Stanford, and he adamantly refused to let me transfer to NYU because of him. He appeased me with promises and assurances.

Still, every night before I go to sleep, I wonder 'Why doesn't he see how much I love him?' And every night I try to push back the idea that 'Maybe, he doesn't want to see.'

At first, he made good on his promise. Called me twice a day, every day. Once when he woke up, and once before bed. No matter how early, nor how late, I always answered. Always.

I wrote him letters; he wrote emails. We visited during breaks, when we had the money.

But after six months his calls soon fell short. He only called once a day; at first, I shrugged it off. University was after all hectic, and he had to keep a job. He must be exhausted.

But as the weeks went on, his calls dwindled from seven days a week to once every three weeks. His letters and emails became two sentences, and were sent far in between.

I made up so many excuses for him; he was ill, tired, nothing of interest happened, no money for long distance calls.

On his birthday I decided to fly to New York City to surprise him.
He was turning twenty-one. Such an exciting age.

When I arrived at his apartment, some twenty-something woman answered the door.
I had thought 'Did he get a new roommate? I thought his roommate was a guy...'

I was so naiive. It was still morning and I was too anxious to finally see him again to really notice the woman's skanky attire.

It wasn't until he came up behind her, clad in boxer briefs, and as he wrapped an arm around her he asked "I think you should give the birthday boy a gift now..."

He hadn't seen me yet.

His actions numbed me; they froze me in place. When he finally saw me, his eyes widened in surprise and guilt.

"What're you doing here?"

I couldn't answer. Instead my legs just started moving, my mind too numb to do anything other then replay those short seconds.

My heart took action.

I ran all the way to my hotel and cried and cried and cried.

Later, when I came back to California I received an email from him. He told me he had forgotten to tell me about his new girl; he was just so caught in the romance. He also said that he was sorry.

How does one forget that he already has a girlfriend?
She must be real good in bed then.

...Now I'm just bitter.

Three hundred and sixty-five days since his promise. Three months since he conveniently forgot that promise, and me. Two months since that awful day.

And every night since then I've cried myself to sleep hoping desperately that I could forget everything just as easily.