And I did see him again. He flew down to stay with me before classes began, and we had an almost too good to be true few days together. After that, we spent every day talking and getting to know one another. We liked each other enough to book flights and plan out weekend trips. A few weeks after his visit, I got on a plane to spend my birthday with him.

About a week before I landed, he had a cold sore. He talked to me about how annoying it was getting them ever since he was a kid. I asked him, knowing the answer, if cold sores were herpes. Like most people who have cold sores, to (almost) no fault of their own, he laughed, shook his head, and said no it’s not. I knew cold sores were HSV, but I didn’t see a point in arguing or educating. Anyways, by the time I landed, the cold sore was gone. It was my twenty-first birthday, so I wasn’t really thinking about the cold sore after a few too many drinks and a great time with friends. In a moment of pause I had that night, I convinced myself that out of everyone in the world, it wouldn’t happen to me. I’ve never been one to question my instincts or hush the voice in my head but that night I did. As it turns out, it did happen to me and now I’m writing a blog titled “Living With Herpes” wishing I never even went abroad.