It was the first day of my third year at college when I first laid eyes on her. She was new to the school – a transfer – and she had instantly made a name for herself, simply by being gorgeous. I knew that I was not the only one admiring her from afar. My eyes would focus, then glance away. You could sense the rest of the room doing the same.

She was classically beautiful, with long, dark, flowing hair, piercing blue eyes, high cheekbones and a smile that would tackle you dead at the one. Her body was amazing, a tiny muscular frame with curves in all the desired places. On the surface, she was perfect, and I – along with the rest of the school – was entranced.

Soon I only cared about the one class that we shared. It was three days per week, one hour per day, and it was never enough. All of my other classes suffered. She was all that I could think about. I wanted to see her every day, all day.

It was some time before I realized that my stares were being returned. I ignored them because I couldn’t make sense of it. Of all the stares she got, why was mine deserving of reciprocation? I was not like her; I knew that before we ever even spoke. I was a longhaired freak who listened to weird music. She dated football players and people who used to beat my ass. As much as I wanted this, I knew it would never work.

Once I noticed her eyes turning back toward me, I began staring less. I knew she was attracted to me, yet I couldn’t get up the nerve to speak to her. At the end of each class, I would almost run for the door. I was pathetic, and I knew it. There was only one way to overcome this: alcohol.

When I saw her at the fraternity party I knew it was the perfect opportunity. I approached her without fear. Thanks to a few drinks we spoke all night, we danced and we laughed. I was invited back to her room. Throughout the night she presented herself as a smart, interesting and fun girl… everything I was looking for. I seemed to have judged her prematurely – maybe she didn’t only like football players. When I put on Radiohead’s The Bends she said, “Ohhh, I love this album!” I was certain a marriage proposal was in my future.

Soon we were spending every day together, usually in bed or at the bar. I was falling hard. However, my heart warned me to proceed with caution. I suppose it was the night when she threw a telephone at my head for talking to a waitress at a bar that things began to change. I was starting to see through her.

After a while our conversations shortened and we seldom laughed. I began to see traits in her that I hadn’t noticed before. She was rude to people because she thought she was better than them. She called my friends as outcasts and losers. She got angry whenever I spoke with other girls. But by this point, I was already in too deep. Can you really love someone you don’t know? The person that I knew and loved was not her at all.

As suddenly as our relationship had developed, it became obvious to me that it had to end. Still, I held on as tight as I could. I was getting attention from people who normally ignored me. My girlfriend was the best-looking girl everywhere we went. And because of this, I was becoming less and less myself – I was becoming materialistic and narcissistic. I was becoming like her.

It’s funny how music can be powerful enough to change you, snap you back to reality. It’s ironic that the same record that sparked my love for her was the same one that brought me to my senses.

“She looks like the real thing / She tastes like the real thing / My fake plastic love.”

We were making love when this lyric from “Fake Plastic Trees” echoed in my ear. My eyes teared and I froze. What was I doing? This is not love. This is not me. I stood up and dressed slowly. She asked me what I was doing. “I can’t do this any more. I’m sorry, I don’t love you.”

Her face read of utter shock. My mind had become completely clear, but she was in the dark. “We are two different people,” I said. That didn’t help her make sense of anything.

I pressed the open button on the cd player. I removed The Bends and placed it in its case. The album was mine and still is, but from that moment on, track number four would forever belong to her.