Red lips, black soul. TSM.

Never knowing what’s happening in class, but always knowing what’s happening over the weekend. TSM.

Always on Tinder, sometimes swiping right, never messaging back. TSM.

You had me at “pre-med.” TSM.

Drunk texting on the Greek keyboard. TSM.

Your phone auto-correcting “monogamy” to “monograms,” because only one of those things is relevant to your life. TSM.

Planning “TSM breaks” into your studying. TSM.

Hooking up with the t-shirt chair of a fraternity because, well, he’s the t-shirt chair. Duh. TSM.