When I finished the copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy that you gave me, I wanted to tell you everything I thought about it. Pour my love and ideas onto Messenger; start a conversation that would leave both of us happy. Instead, I left a sentence saying I finished it. Even though it was your first gift to me over a year ago, given before the start of summer and our falling in love- I could barely bring myself to more than a sentence. Because on the 28th of July, in your dying car during a rainstorm, we cried and broke up. Why, I doubt I'll ever understand. Nearly a year of dating brought to an end in hours.
What brings love like that to an end? Why can you hardly give me the affection you once gave me? Will I get you back? These are the questions I wish I could put into an all-knowing machine. But if the answer to life and everything is the number 42, then maybe I can make my own Theory.
Theory: If the person who swore they'd love you for the rest of your life cannot come crawling back to you within 42 days, then you're probably not meant to be with them. And if you dedicate more than 6 texts a day (times 7 days a week) to a person who gives you less than 6 texts a day (times 7 days a week), then you are giving > 42, which should never go unrequited.
A true story, told in 42 chapters.
