When something’s good for me, I love to run from it.

Last summer, I met the man of my dreams, and even then, I ran.

I was afraid of many things.

I was afraid of losing my independence.

I was afraid of losing my sense of freedom.

I was afraid that staying would mean I was settling.

I was afraid that he wasn’t going to be able to hold my heart in the way I’ve always wanted it to be held.

Ironically, I was only afraid of these things because deep down, I knew they weren’t true. Deep down, I knew this person was someone special—because deep down, I felt it.

But still, I was afraid, so I did what I knew. I ran.

We sat together on the grass under the stars, our knees just barely grazing each other. We held hands as I told him I needed to leave—for good. I opened my heart, fully, and I honestly told him why I thought I should go. He listened. He understood. We kissed. And I left.

The way my body knew I wanted to hold him was an obvious indicator to stay, but alas, I didn’t listen.

I didn’t get very far before I felt the pulsing in my heart telling me to see him.

When we got back together, he was different. New. Exciting. Somehow sexier. But why? Sure, it was because “we want what we can’t have” and “distance makes the heart grow fonder,” but those couldn’t be the only reasons because these feelings didn’t fade.

I was suddenly enamored with his presence, and I finally understood why.

He heard me.

That night, on the grass under the stars, he heard me. And I didn’t have to tell him twice. (And it was the sexiest thing any man has ever done for me.)

I told him what I was afraid of and I told him what I felt like I wasn’t receiving. And then, I left. I left before I even gave him the chance to act. Believing that someone will give me what I need before communicating it to them is my toxic trait. But I’m learning. He’s teaching me.

When I returned, he held my heart in the way I asked and I saw him for what felt like the first time. I fell into the deep end of his chocolatey, green-ish eyes, and that’s where I intend to float.

I don’t regret leaving.

I do regret the pain I may have caused, but we both know it did something invaluable to our relationship. The space we created allowed each other the space for us to open. And for me, it allowed me to see that all I really need is for someone to hear me.

We all deserve to have a partner who hears us—who really hears us. But first, we have to communicate. When things get tough, speak up. When you feel like your partner isn’t giving you what you need, tell them what you need. Your partner can’t (always) read your mind.

And when your partner listens, hears you, and acts accordingly, that’s when you’ll know they just might be worth keeping.