I had originally intended to write a column about Valentine’s Day, as my publication date and the loved/hated Hallmark, hormonal holiday fall only days apart. I pondered different ideas — the Hot Wheels valentines I got from boys in my first grade class, which meant nothing because they gave them to everyone; my intense relationship with Ben and Jerry; the fact that I often forget about V-day because my dad’s birthday is the day before, and I’m often scrambling to get him a card instead.

I racked my brain for different ideas to put to the page, but then something bigger happened. Something bigger than a holiday about professing your feelings to your beloved.

My phone broke.

What I have realized, in the absence of my cherry red EnV3 and the fact that I haven’t sent a text message in over 24 hours, is that the end of my relationship with EnV3 (which lasted only six weeks, mind you), was also quite timely and fitting with the Valentine season, and not just because of the color of my phone.

My attachment to my phone was intense, and at times, borderline unhealthy. I haven’t quite pinned down whether the loss of my EnV3 is like a bad, ugly break up or a sad one in which we “knew we had to do it.” I am resentful of my phone for being easily damaged, but I know that I very well may be better off without it. How many times did I fail to engage in a conversation because I was drowning in the keypad of my phone, doing I-don’t-even-know what (sometimes fake texting, because I felt awkward)?

My EnV3 got me out of uncomfortable situations by being a crutch. A sexy, technologically dapper one.

In the absence of the ability to fake-text my way through weird moments, or the ability to text at all, and the fact that I can now only call people whose numbers I know by heart (a list that has gone from about 20, pre-enormous flip phone in the eighth grade, to maybe four) I have been overcome with feelings of resentment and anger, and at the same time, a mild degree of comfort. I am no longer burdened with constantly checking my EnV3. I can stay present in whatever I’m doing.

I don’t have to answer to anyone I don’t feel like answering, because they have no way of contacting me anyway.

This comfort doesn’t last for long, because whenever I see someone else whip out their cell phone, or God forbid, their EnV3 — in blue or red — I am overcome with jealousy, wishing I had a Verizon LG object to hold in my hand as well. My EnV3 lied to me. It should have lasted longer. The six weeks were intense and full of promise, but I guess anything that passionate can’t last long. Those kinds of promises are never actually meant to be kept, especially when spoken via a digital object.

Will I look back upon the weeks of late December to early February fondly? Sure. I’ll never forget our times together — on the elliptical at the gym, sneaking around during class, at meals and even in bed. But when I resume the strength to purchase the replacement, I’m sure these six weeks will be just a blip on the radar of my technological track record.

At least I won’t have to get any “HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!” mass text messages.