Dear Boston University,

This is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write. After four years of bittersweet memories, it’s time for us to part. It’s not you, it’s me. OK, it’s partly you.

I remember when I first met you — a naive little 18-year-old kid seduced by your city and your culture. I was infatuated. At the time, you seemed way out of my league and I was just happy you gave me a shot.

But now I realize the truth. You never seemed to care about me. You cared only about yourself. Maybe it was the grade deflation you saddled me with, or the complete lack of regard for me or any of the other 18,000 students with whom you carried on a relationship, but somehow I lost that lovin’ feeling.

It wasn’t all bad times. I remember when I used to sit in your classrooms, enchanted by some of the greatest teachers I’ve ever had. You even wined and dined me with your dorm-dining and George Sherman Union selections.

But a man (or a boy, really) can only subsist on doughy pizza and mystery meat for so long. As I and many others soon realized, you had your own agenda, which had little do with us. Can you really blame me for becoming disillusioned and frustrated?

I appreciate the fact that you always left the light on for me. I just didn’t realize that meant you also left a guard for me to answer to. There was obviously little trust in this relationship from the start.

I forgave you, BU, but I did not forget. It soon became apparent during our first year together that I had gotten involved with you for the wrong reasons. I looked at Boston College, Harvard University and Northeastern University, and students seemed — gasp! — happy, even proud to be there. The only thing I could muster was, “Yeah … but we’ve won a lot of Beanpots.”

Perhaps the only element of our relationship in that freshman year that I truly enjoyed was BU men’s ice hockey. At the games, nothing else mattered. For once I was encouraged to be a rowdy college student. All those things you tried to change about me finally found an outlet. But you managed to tarnish even that memory when you forced me to censor myself at the final game of our four years together. It’s good to know you haven’t changed.

I’ll admit, you did manage to make some changes yourself. Agganis Arena and the Fitness and Recreation Center were lovely gifts that have made a difference in my time here. Case Gymnasium was nice and all, but when we started our relationship I really thought I’d moved on from high school facilities. Now, thousands of pounds of concrete and steel have improved your appearance better than any plastic surgeon could have.

But even though you’re more attractive than ever, your new façade can’t change who you are, which is a major reason why I’m leaving. That, and having enough credits to graduate. In four years of ups and downs, you still close yourself off to me and many others.

Our latest Student Union election is a perfect example of how cold you can be. After years of Union leadership rendered ineffectual by being treating like a bastard child, we seem to have realized that you couldn’t care less about the Union. And if you don’t care, I certainly am not going to waste my breath anymore.

Would it really be that hard? The only time you seem particularly concerned with my well being comes when you pass me the bill. Speaking of, couldn’t we split the check occasionally? I know you’ve got deep pockets, and yet you still churn through $40,000 a year. I’m pretty sure even dating a girl from the School of Management doesn’t cost that much. Now, looking back, I can see how unhealthy our relationship has been. Maybe it was the screaming. Maybe it was the crying. Maybe it was the probation you inflicted on me. I can only take so much.

We can all do crazy things at times, like jump out of a cab (pictured). But that didn’t give you the right to overreact and get involved in my business. Like it or not, I do exist outside of your institution.

So that’s it. I’ve deleted your number from my cell phone. I’ve taken down all of our pictures. If you must know, I’m pursuing things with a lovely little entry-level position. If everything goes well, I might even be showing it my O-face — as in, “Oh man, I love getting paid.”

And now, in the final death blows of our relationship, I bid you adieu with a wave and a tear. But take heart — the well-populated tour groups dotting campus during these spring days look to be quickly romanced in the same way I was. The only thing I ask is that you be better to them than you were to me.

Looking ahead, I’ll never be the same again. It’s assuring to know you certainly will be. Take care, BU.

P.S. I need those boxer shorts back.

Jason Abbruzzese, a senior in the College of Communication, has been a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. He can be reached at [email protected].