Do not write love poems.
Forgive yourself for the one morning you didn't kiss him awake while the alarm clock rang.
Let yourself cry when you realise you don't remember the last time he said "I love you".
And again, when you know exactly when you said "I love you" last, and it didn't matter to him anymore.
And again.
And again.
And don't ask yourself what that last time meant to him.
Delete the songs you know you'll never be able to listen to again.
And his number from your phone.
And the text in which he calls you sweetie, and asks when you'll be home.
Save the emails in which he tells you that you're the most beautiful girl in the world, but promise yourself not to read them for at least ten years. It will still hurt then, but it will hurt less.
Avoid the bus that you took to get to him.
Call your best friend at 3 am just to hear her voice.
And your mother, just to say you don't understand.
And your father, to confess your weaknesses, because he will tell you that you are strong and he will believe it.
Do not wonder what his desk looks like without the picture frame you gave him for his birthday, or the hearts you gave to his life.
Lose your voice and find it again, in between the sobs and the smiles.
Laugh at the memory of your very first time.
Remember how much you grew together, and how much you grew apart.
Believe that you will love again when it feels true, and tell yourself you will when it doesn't.