The first year was like a fling with a guy who you didn’t think was your type at all, but you figured: why not? You had some chemistry, and that made it easy to overlook his haircut and his taste in music. You spent every night at his place for a month. When December rolled around, you said, “Hey, I think I need a little break. I’ll call you?” You went back home and slept for a week.
Then somehow a year went by and you found a sweater that still smelled like him and you remembered how much fun you had last fall, so you called him up. He was a little cool — I mean, it took you a year to call him back — but he warmed up fast and next thing you knew he was keeping your favorite brand of beer in his fridge. The heat fell off a little quicker this time, but you both thought it was funny and you spent the rest of the month on the couch eating cheese popcorn, shopping for shoes on eBay, and watching LOLcat video compliations on YouTube.
The third year it felt a little forced, but you were both still game enough to meet for a drink. The heat lasted three days and you decided to call it quits after you fell asleep while he was telling you about the time his friends ditched him at the roller rink in seventh grade.
The fourth year you just called to say hi. He didn’t pick up. You left a noncommittal message. He didn’t call back.
The fifth year you gave that sweater to Goodwill and re-read an overdue copy of Jane Eyre instead.