41 days after I poured my heart out in a letter, I finally received a response. “I needed to put myself back together again,” she wrote, “and jumping into a relationship was not the way to do it. If I regret anything, it’s that. I should have known I wasn’t ready.”

Life, even amid the absurdity of human suffering, still has meaning. Suffering, as absurd as it seems, points to a greater story in which, if one will only construe himself as a character within, he can find fulfillment in his tragic role, knowing the plot is heading toward redemption.

Tonight I sat on the same jetty where one year ago around this time, my heart was forever changed. I remember, in one sudden instance I spun around quickly as a wave splashed against the rocks, and she stood there a few steps away, barefoot and smiling, listening to me rant as my job fell apart. My comfort was disrupted, but I was entering a story. Then and there, a veil was lifted and I was overwhelmed with the blazing agony of something fierce and infinite.