When someone grows up attached to everything around them, it becomes a little harder to understand that some things just aren't meant to be—and Art felt like he was being forced to learn this the hard way. As always, the easy way out seemed to not exist in his life.

Not that he wanted to blame anyone else for his own shamelessness—his grandma taught him good values, of course she did, she just forgot to teach him to let go. Art felt like a nervous wreck when it came to getting over it.

Oh, fuck, he lost count of how many times Patrick had not-so-gently tapped him on the shoulder during a tennis match and yelled that he should get over it, get over you. But, what was the point in getting over the person he loved the most for the past three years?

Art knew he was being a fucking loser, an asshole. To you, to Pat, even to his grandma, and still, he didn't want to let go.

He just wanted you to see how miserable he became after you broke up with him two months ago. All because you wanted to pursue your dreams outside Stanford, and couldn't give him all the attention he wanted from you.

Bullshit, if he knew it was going to be this bad, then he would have accepted having only one hour of your attention out of the 24 hours in a day—all for you. He was in deep shit and couldn't even play a friendly tennis match without expecting to see you in the stands, how pathetic.

Get over it, get over it. It became his mantra, because it was what he always told himself mentally before picking up his cell phone and sending you several text messages. Eagerly waiting for you to notice him there for you again like you did three years ago.

Hey, babe I'm sorry, but... God, I miss you so much Can I see you? Pleasw????? I promise I won't cry this time :((

He would send you all these text messages in less than seconds, desperate for any crumb of your affection that would show that you weren't over him yet either. No, you couldn't get over him and forget him, he wouldn't let you.