On summer love.

I used to be a secure, happy, not to mention flirty girl. Over the summer, I met the perfect guy who was crazy for me; I screwed things up, he moved on (literally, he packed up and went to a school two hours away) and hasn’t talked to me since. I think I love him. Missing him has been affecting my life is terrible ways, I tried dating others and it doesn’t work. What the hell do I do?

Oh, please. You were just love stoned all summer, and now you’re going through withdrawals.

He wasn’t the perfect guy. There’s no such thing, princess. You were drunk on a heady cocktail of great chemistry and perfect timing. Three sweaty months of summer is just long enough for you to think you are in love, but it’s an artificial high.

For fuck’s sake, they’ve got a name for it. It’s actually called “summer love.” Didn’t you ever see Grease?

If you want to get over him quickly, drive up to his school without telling him. Surprise him. Don’t expect it to go well, though. I promise, it will be an awkward disaster.

The chemistry will be gone. The timing will be off. You will embarrass yourself.

It sounds harsh, but this relationship is a little snow globe filled with glitter in your head, and you need a brutal reality check to come along and shatter it.


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