You teach me that some love stories are viscerally beautiful up until the very moment of their end, but that does not mean they are meant to last. They are meant to be experienced only as a precursor to the other things life has in store for us.
During my first semester, the only evidence I had of WUSB’s existence was the enigmatic, perpetually closed door to the vinyl library in room 229 of the Union. I spent my weekends wandering around campus in search of the best…