The coffee was cold. I poured it into the sink, ran lukewarm water over the mug and placed it into the strainer. Outside my new apartment’s windows the unruffled spring air — mixed with the scents of dying lilacs and freshly cut grass — left goose bumps on my arms. Although the air was cool, it was thick and heavy. Still. There was no joy to be found in the brilliance of the early morning sunshine.

Looking at Mark sleeping, I knew that after he left that afternoon things were going to be different. After four years of college spent together (some years of friendship and others dating), we were finally going our separate ways — him to the city and me staying to finish my Masters.

I looked at him that morning with the kind of uncertainty a skydiver must feel before jumping out of an airplane: will I fall or fly?

Throughout my life, I have shared what I call “pillow talks” with friends, family and loved ones; for me, they are some of the closest moments I have shared with people.

When we were children, my cousin Julie and I often had play dates and sleepovers. Snuggled beneath layers of blankets in the evenings, we would play games such as “I’m going on a picnic” or “I spy with my little eye.” Most often, in between one of our mother’s stern yet amused, “Go to bed girls,” we would chat about humorous family foibles, Barbie’s and plans for the following days until sleep held our child minds with tender arms.

As we grew, so did our circle of friends and so did my pillow talks. Through middle and high school, sleepovers became weekend routines and “picnic” games and family chronicles quickly turned into (still in between parental warnings to go to bed) trivially important pillow gossip about boys, school and how angry we were with our parents.

After a long awaited move from living at home to “living on my own” at college, I quickly learned that it was hard to live on one’s own with a mandatory roommate. Being an only child learning to coexist with another human being in a 400 square foot room was difficult during my first few years.

Yet, I found a kind of reprieve as pillow talks with my then-roommate Ellen matured into discussions about what happens when we die, if all people need to get married and have babies, what our plans were for after college and what it meant to be in love.

I soon discovered the mysterious four-letter “L” word when I met Mark – a freshman looking to do everything that many young adults do when presented with newfound freedom – my sophomore year. Just breaking myself from an abusive relationship, light and lavish laughs were what I needed and were what I found with him.

While many smiles were shared, there were also tears when we decided to go our separate ways weeks before that year’s summer break.

A year and a half went by filled with us meeting new people and enjoying the “college experience.” But, after my father passed away during winter break of my junior year, Mark came back into my life, once again appearing when I needed him. Still skeptical because of the past, we began dating just to “see what would happen.” A year and a half later, we are still seeing what will happen.

He graduated two weeks ago from SUNY Fredonia. Days before, we stayed up for hours pillow talking about our past, funny incidents, deep thoughts and about what the future would bring us. It was not until the black sky was replaced with glowing azure filled with singing birds did we find sleep.

With gas prices steadily rising, summer schoolwork mounting and preparations being made to begin a doctoral degree, I knew our daily visits would drastically decrease. When 3 p.m. arrived the next day, I watched him drive off to the city and felt my chest tighten.

Throughout the stages of my life, I have shared pillow talks with many types of loved ones.

When younger, they were unripe discoveries about the surrounding world. Slowly, they matured into revelations and a better understanding about myself in that world while unknowingly making lasting connections with others who were doing the same.

I am gradually learning that letting go is an inevitable and recurring part of life. It is laughter, tears, pillow talks and memories of these times that have and will continue to help me grow. It is the confidence of knowing that even through separation, certain loved ones will always be with you.

• Originally published Tuesday, June 3 2008