6 min read

The worst breakup I’ve ever been through wasn’t even a breakup—and trust me, I’ve had my share of breakups. It was whatever you call it when you tell the guy you’ve been in a romantically ambiguous situationship with for the past few months that you love him, then cry yourself to sleep in his bed when he rejects you.

I had just finished my junior year of college and was interning in New York for the summer. I was 21, he was 37, and I fell into the kind of delirious romantic infatuation that’s pretty much inevitable when you’re a woman in her very early 20s dating a man in his late 30s who is a little less into you than you are into him. The night before I had to leave the city, I decided to shoot my shot, failed fantastically, and returned to my parents’ place the next day a

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