I woke up this morning and, amazingly, didn’t hit snooze. I jumped right up. I went to my phone to see if I had a missed call from you, even though I knew I hadn’t. I fell back onto the bed and just lay there, hoping I would fall asleep again and this time when I woke up, last night would never have happened.

I didn’t want to believe that it was over. I want to feel angry, but I know I have no real right to. Instead I just feel sad. Last night was the toughest—my legs shook, and my head hung to my chest. I just felt so rejected. I guess something came between us.

I remembered the night you had called and called and called and I wasn’t answering and I let the phone just vibrate its way off the table, and I imagined you doing the same last night as a bit of revenge against me. It’s ok, I guess in some ways I deserve it. I just didn’t think it would end this way. I knew things weren’t ever easy and never would be but I thought we could work things out.

It’s been a while since the last great love, and I thought I was ready for something but the past couple of candidates have really been lousy. The last relationship was just brutal—I had been coaxed into it kicking and screaming, and I was miserable for all of it. I was treated so poorly—lied to and ignored and smirked at, condescended to, promises made and broken and made and broken. I lost my friends—they said I had become a different person. But I just needed somebody, I need a relationship, you know? And I still do. And as much as I hate it I know I’ll go back to it.

But you, I thought there was a chance. Though I knew from the start our relationship would not have been as good as it was with The Great One, it would never be Love…you were really nice. I liked you. I thought maybe we had a good thing going.

I remember when I first fell for you. I had sort of been seeing a few different people but the best thing to do, in that situation as in so many, is to turn to your friends. There were a few early dissenters but soon the consensus was clear: you were the only one who was relationship material. We had a history—well, not you and me, but some common friends that first introduced us. And they had all liked you and I thought I guessed I could, too.

Things were rocky for a while. I mean, you never really paid me the attention I thought you should. I was warned you were a bit of a swinger, but I fell for you just the same.

I don’t think I’ll forget you soon. I mean, I know I will. Eventually. That’s how these things go, right? We silly human beings, we tumble so quickly into love, despite our lovers’ faults, their infidelities and broken promises and half-truths. I think on some level we know that any lover will be untruthful, at least sometimes. And, well, we just don’t want to be alone.

I wonder if we should try it again, if in a few years I’ll be ready to give it another go. But the truth is I’ll be a different person then, and so will you. We had our chance.

Today is tough. I can’t really look anyone in the eye. Sometimes I catch glances and when people see me they know not to talk to me, they know, they know, so I stammer around in this silence catching glances and rejecting them and out of the corner of my eye I see them nod and know. They’ve been there, too. Maybe they’re there right now.

I passed a few Mormon missionaries on the street today. I could see that they knew I was on the rebound, that I’m weak, I’m ripe. It’s going to be hard, John, it’s going to be hard.

David B. Rochelson ’05, a Crimson news executive, is an English and American literature and language concentrator in Mather House.