breaks•giv•ing ‘br?(k)s‘giv-ing n: The time of year (usually around thanksgiving) when college freshman dump their long distance high school sweethearts, because they are having ‘more fun’ in college. See also: turkey dump.


I am a victim. Every year I am so judgmental toward the girls who cry over their boyfriends going off to college and leaving them back home. So now, as if karma had literally come to find me, I am now a victim of what they call ‘breaksgiving.’

So I sit here in my basement with my two newest best friends, Ben and Jerry. Of course, this makes me think of the time that you bought me ice cream because I was sick. And then when I threw it up in your bathroom right afterwards.

And armed with a bowl and a spoon, I am watching the notebook for the 4th time this weekend. Even though I know that nothing different ever happens at the end. Noah and Ally fall in love, break up, fall in love, happily ever after. The usual.

And I think about how many times I forced you to watch that movie with me, and how I knew you hated it, but you watched it anyway. And how I knew that you were no Noah Calhoun of course, but you were good enough for me. In fact, you were much more than what I deserved, as far as I could tell. I remember when I would watch Grey’s Anatomy at your house, and I’d fall asleep on your arm. You couldn’t quite reach the remote, and you didn’t want to wake me up, so you watched Lifetime movies all by yourself. When I told my grandma that, she said you were a keeper.

So I guess what I’m getting at, is everything reminds me of you. Laying under a blanket triggers memories of laying next to you. I can’t hold my guitar without remembering when I tried to teach you, and failed at it. Even just looking at the sky, as cheesy as that sounds, I know that no matter where you are, that same exact sky is right over your head. It kills me not to know where exactly that is sometimes.

I’m going insane without you. I can’t even drive my own car, heaven forbid I might think about the fact that you drive a car too. But this is just nonsense; everyone drives a car, why does it all make me think of you? Maybe it’s because I ‘attached myself to you, far too much for a girl my age’ like my dad tells me. Maybe so. Going to bed at night I can’t help but wonder if you’re doing the same thing, and if you are alone. Not getting a goodnight phone call before I fall asleep is devastatingly unusual.

You have clouded up my mind. I can’t breathe without remembering that you breathe too. The same kind of oxygen will be moving in and out of our lungs, but we would never know the difference.

You have enveloped my thoughts and my dreams, even though I don’t sleep that often anymore. So this is when I start to wonder if it ever hurts you to breathe when you think about me. Or, if you’ve ever felt like crying yourself to sleep. Or if there is another girl, and if she’s pretty. And if so, will your mom like her and run with her, and will your dad will treat her like a daughter? Does she write you songs? Is she crazy like me? Will she take my spot? Probably not, but you could at least try to pretend you still care, or that you miss me. Can you do that; would you, just to make me happy for a second?

In other words; yes. I think about you a lot. But I won’t ever tell you how much.