This guy was painfully shy around me, never spoke; he could only write letters and send mix tapes full of R.E.M. to express himself. He was intense, artistic, mysterious, and pretty cute—so I tried to make something work. One night, we had a drink and went for a walk. He started to talk, open up, then stumble around and fall down. Then declared that he loved me. He was so drunk, I had to carry him home and put him to bed. I guess the only way we could converse was if he was smashed.

—Sasha

Aftermath: We never spoke of that night. In fact, we never spoke again. Technically, we weren’t even dating, as that supposes a two way street of shared experiences—and there was nothing but awkward silence.

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