Two summers ago, I fell in love with my current s.o. and for two months straight, it seemed all we did was drive around New England blasting High Violet and Boxer from his little red hatchback. With milkshakes melting between our knees, we professed the things that people in love profess to each other–we fell in love too quickly, but the sadness that exists in falling in love too fast was possibly the best thing I’d ever gotten my grubby little hands on.
Once November hit, that tinge of sadness had grown into full-on grief. I remember sitting in the coffeeshop where I sit in now, and listening to this song, watching this video, and doing my best to hide that I was crying. I wrote carefully on a torn-out piece of paper from my notebook, I missed you for twenty-six years. I went home to his apartment, gave him the note, and he smiled faintly and set it on his mantle. That was the night we broke up for the first time.