Dear Albert,

I remember the day we met. I was a wide-eyed freshman with a dream of majoring in everything the science division offered. I’d been planning for course registration for weeks and was ready to overload with classes that semester, when, dressed in white and purple #57068c, you ruined my plans. You told me that I was “too young” to overload and had the audacity to gatekeep the classes I wanted to take. I was really mad at you, but there was something oddly charming about your old-school style.

When I finally got into a class you’d waitlisted me for, I cooled down a bit and pondered over my conflicting feelings for you. I realized that I needed you in my life, at least for the next four years. You’d already been a significant part of my NYU Abu Dhabi experience, and there was no way I could make it through college without you. So I crossed my fingers and asked you out, hoping no one else had asked you first. And when you were back from your Friday night maintenance, you said yes.

I was ecstatic and believed that that was the start of something truly beautiful... but I guess I was wrong.

There were red flags from the start. I remember telling you that I, an aspiring physics major, was considering taking a film class. I didn’t know then that you were so insecure. That any bored computer science major could pretend to be you and gain access to my thoughts of switching to the dark side. And besides, who calls themselves a Violet yet constantly wears purple?

Fall changed into spring, and I was surpassed in credits by everyone who’d stuck with FoS. You began preferring the overloaders to me, giving them special treatment by letting them enroll earlier. That’s when I started to notice things about you that bugged me.

I always showed up early to our rendezvous, even if it meant going shopping with you — an activity I’m not too fond of, but spent hours planning just to suit your whims. But you? You’d take minutes to act on simple requests. And maybe that’s because you had other people on your mind.

You also tried way too hard to fit in with the freshmen, especially after that one crazy night of maintenance. Remember when you started using unnecessary abbreviations? You’d say “Nbr” instead of “Number” and “Bldg” instead of “Building,” and, for some reason, you still do. I’m sorry but that’s not lingo; that’s just weird.

You were even terrible at shopping. Somehow, you couldn’t seem to grasp the idea that we could carry more than one class to the cart at a time. I had to keep directing you to the course list and back each time I wanted something.

I think that’s when I knew it was all over. You’d turned into a completely different person. Or maybe you were just showing your true colors: purple, not violet. I started hating the things I used to like about you. Your outdated style became a symbol of your incompetence. The fact of the matter was that you could never keep up with what I asked of you, even though I did everything I could.

When I first started seeing you, your exes told me that you used to be worse, so I thought you had the potential to be better. I appreciate that you changed your login page, but that is the one thing I didn’t ask for. Do better, Albert.

I never thought it would have to come to this, but I’m leaving you... for Mobile Albert. Look, I’m not just going for the younger, prettier model because I’m shallow. I just don’t think we’re right for each other... at least not until you make an effort. And I thought I would write you a letter telling you why, because getting this published in The Gazelle is faster than getting through MFA.

It’s been alright knowing you,

Mitime Slotsux

P.S. Please don’t write a letter back. I’m convinced that straining to read your tiny font is the reason I had to get glasses.