break up with your dorm room, you’re bored

Dear Dunster W120,

I cried the first time I saw you, not because I was sad, but because within moments of our meeting, I knew this was the real thing. I placed my extra large can of RAID: Roach and Ant on the table and leapt with joy onto my mattress covered in years of oddly brown stains. At night, I slept soundly as my window gave me a front seat view of the rats running across the pathway, delightfully scurrying on their way to Mather. Ah, yes. I had it good with you.

From the first 24 hours that I spent sequestered in you, I got to know your entire layout quite well, from the smelly hangers someone left in my closet to the contact lenses strewn across the bathroom floor. I can decidedly say that even though I left you as soon as I could to go study at Widener (the life of the party, am I right?) or the Smith Campus Center (still didn’t get any work done) or Cabot Library (Harvard is incredibly creative with donors) what we had was something special.

Unfortunately, I’m breaking up with you. My childhood bedroom texted me a week ago and wanted its girl back. I know I told you I was done with that, but my parents are planning to cook dinner for me, and let’s face it, you only offer Red’s Best Catch. Well, they didn’t tell you that I’M THE BEST CATCH. You’ve been awfully strange these past few weeks. When I’m in Zoom calls, I get all these weird background noises from people mowing their lawns. At night, I close my eyes for five seconds and then an alarm rings. Is that all you’re doing?

Let’s face it, you and I were never going to work out long-term. As I pack my bags to move away from you, I notice tiny things. Like the dust on the floor. Was I supposed to clean that up? I thought you would’ve told me.

In any case, don’t call me. I hope that you can find it in yourself to move on. Of course, I might be coming back in town for next semester, then that might be a different story… So, see you around?

Not yours,

Matylda