When my high school boyfriend and I broke up after three and a half years, I was so happy to be single.

Okay, that’s not giving him nearly enough credit—at first I was really sad. He’s a great guy, and it was hard to let go of someone who after such a long time had been my best friend.

But after the break up tears had dried and all of the chocolate ice cream had been eaten, a new part of me emerged from the depths. I was a free woman and the world was my oyster.

At least, that’s how I felt as a senior graduating from high school and a freshman going into college. There were so many people to meet, so many friends to make, so much cheap beer to drink. And of course, there were multitudes of guys that I didn’t yet know.

Yeah, being single was capital F-U-N.

But after a couple of years of meaningless late night texts and empty dates, (and I use the term dates loosely) I felt a little drained. I decided to do the whole “focus on myself” thing that seemed to work in romantic comedies, the thing the girl does right before she meets prince charming. I’m not sure if that’s what I wanted or not—I just wanted guys to stop being so geared towards only the physical aspect of relationships.

Naturally, about a couple weeks into the “focusing on myself” thing, (which actually made me feel great, if I’m being honest) I dove straight back into my old ways (a couple of times). I had been doing so well, writing a lot, spending time with friends and more time just with myself.

Well, no surprise, I craved this guy’s attention and he just didn’t give it back. That’s when I actually started truly focusing on myself—that last final stab to the heart. I knew that I couldn’t do the casual thing anymore. Being single was fun for a while, but I was ready for a relationship again, and until then I was going to be by myself.

So, much like a romantic comedy, right after I made the final decision to be on my own, I met a guy.

I drunkenly gave him my number (how romantic), and he texted me the next week, asking me out to dinner at a nice restaurant. I was so taken aback at first that I didn’t know how to respond. Well, it didn’t seem like a booty call, so I guess I should try it.

I was so nervous that I made my friend come over and help me get ready. I hadn't been on a real date in a long time. We met at his house, and as we walked the rest of the way into the commons, I felt something different. I’m not trying to sell you on some sort of romantic bullshit, like it was love at first sight. But there was something between us that was fun, there was an immediate attraction. We talked the whole way through dinner. There weren’t any awkward pauses, there was no silent boredom. Then we walked back up to his house and talked for a couple of hours. And I mean JUST talked. And watched a little bit of Diners, Drive-ins and Dives. But besides a (great) first kiss, nothing physically happened between us.

After our first date, we spent the next several days together. Which turned into weeks, which subsequently turned into the best summer I’ve ever had. We went to the gorges, we binge-watched cooking shows, we laughed more often than not. And though some may be skeptical, I can confidently say that I fell in love in a short couple of weeks.

You know you’ve fallen in love when you accidentally say it out loud when you totally didn’t mean to because it was way too early to be saying those words and you didn’t want to freak him out.

We were laying in my bed, just talking and laughing, when I looked him right in the eyes and said “I love you.”

We both froze and I immediately tried to take it back—but unfortunately, there are only do-overs in video games and tee ball.

“Did you just see the way you looked at me? You totally meant that,” Ryan said.

I couldn’t deny it. But after he made fun of me for about ten minutes (during which I called my best friend from high school and started freaking out), he said it back.

Since then, our relationship has been through a lot. I went abroad for a semester after only knowing him for a month and a half. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, and I wouldn’t choose to do it again—but I’m glad I did. Because when I saw him walking towards me in the Rome airport, coming to visit me over thanksgiving break, I forgot about all of the fighting and the stress and just kissed him.

When I got back to America, our relationship only grew stronger. We couldn’t spend enough time together. We went back to our restaurant for Valentine ’s Day. We’ve started and finished too many shows to admit. He’s gone from the supposed summer fling to my boyfriend to my best friend. I thought I loved him last summer—and I did. But not in comparison to how much I love him now, a year later.

So thank you to my second love, my amazing boyfriend, the person I call as soon as something amazing or something disastrous happens. Thanks for being silly with me, thanks for eating an unhealthy amount of sushi with me, thanks for lending me your truck when my car has issues, thanks for never failing to cheer me up when I’m sad. Thanks for opening up to me, and thanks for getting me to open up to you. Because the great thing about a second love is not the naïve love of a first relationship, though it may have been great. A second love teaches you how to love after you’ve deemed love impossible to find again. It opens your heart to new possibilities, it teaches you so many things about yourself, about love, about people, about relationships.

And though we may really annoy the shit out of each other once in a while, I honestly think it just makes me love you more. Love is weird, isn’t it?

Happy one year.