My curious mind decided to google something the other day. I typed, “Miles from Kent, Ohio, to Florence, Italy.” The result: 4,462 miles. That’s the distance separating me from my best friend.

In college, going abroad for a semester is an enlightening experience and an amazing opportunity. I’m beyond proud of her for jumping at the opportunity when she got the chance, but she sadly left me behind.

Who can blame her though? The weather in Florence is in the 40s and 50s this week, and Kent is covered in a blanket of snow with a blizzard on the way. Not to mention, it’s beautiful over there.

As much as I want her back here with me, she deserves the fun and the adventures she’s going to have while she’s there. The only problem is she was who I went to for everything. As some might say, she was the Cristina Yang to my Meredith Grey. She was my person, and now I feel lost.

I have other friends I could talk to, but you can’t replace a best friend.

I could always go to my roommates, but they tend to hide in their rooms or don’t want to talk much. Her place was also where I went for refuge to get away from the awkward, lonesome silence that filled my house.

Before she left for Italy, I went to visit her in Pennsylvania the last couple of days she had left in the U.S., and it didn’t hit me that she was actually leaving until I started driving back to Ohio. The fact that I graduate this semester didn’t make it any easier either. Heck, on my way out the door, I borrowed a dress of hers so we would have to see each other when she gets back.

When she got to Italy, she snapchatted me everything. She sent videos of her room, pictures of the view and even pictures of Italian coffee, which my caffeine addicted self asked for. With every snap we sent back and forth, I stayed positive and happy for her, but behind the scenes I was hurting a little because she wasn’t with me anymore.

We still keep in touch and plan to until she gets back. We continue our streak and talk on Snapchat every day, but it’s not the same as it was before. It’s not like we’re back in her apartment talking and eating quesadillas while we watched movies on Hulu. It’s not like I can go back to raiding her closet for a night out or just because I hate what’s in my closet.

It’s only been a little over a week since we last talked over a bottle of wine and laughed away at comedian shows, but I know I’ll learn to cope with the 4,462 miles between us soon enough. It’s not like I won’t see her again. I have to give her dress back sooner or later.

Shelbie Goulding is a columnist. Contact her at [email protected].