Ellington

"Most love in fact starts out as limerance, but most limerance never evolves into love." - Dr. Dorthy Tennov

This summer I was convinced I had fallen in love. The object of my affection and I ran in a similar social circle, bonding over after-work beers, pool and a fondness for '90s grunge rock. But he was hard to read: He'd act interested one day and indifferent the next. From the get-go he played me hot and cold. But it hurt so good, and the masochist in me enjoyed the chase.

We went on a few dates, and if hand-holding was a base, we'd have at least rounded third on a couple of muggy summer nights. How little I was to know our first kiss would also be our last.

Shortly after things were looking good, the flirtatious emails and Facebook messages came to a screeching halt. His rejection threw me in a deep state of melancholy for weeks — the kind that prompted me to download sappy Sarah McLachlan songs, like "Ice Cream," and listen to them on repeat.

I know I wasn't in love; I mean, love? I barely knew the guy. So why am I left now, moping around on Friday nights and listening to whiny songs about ice cream?

I did what any self-respecting college student would do: turn to Wikepedia for answers. And, after Googling around, I finally found the word to describe my ailment. It wasn't love I was in. I was deep in a cesspool of limerance.

The limerance theory was coined by psychologist Dorothy Tennov in 1977. Like lice, leprosy or any other affliction that starts with an "L," it's not to be taken lightly. Wikipedia defines limerance theory as "an involuntary cognitive and emotional state in which a person feels an intense romantic desire for another person."

Though for brief moments limerance may be reciprocated, it is by definition as unstable as an unbonded electron. It's also usually unrequited, which explains why it sucks so much.

Signs you may have a severe case of limerance: heart palpitations, trembling and weakness deep in your body's epicenter, the chest. When the object of your limerance is in close proximity, you're filled with hope and uncertainty. You neglect other things, like your friends, work and hygiene. Your senses are heightened; You can suddenly hear dogs barking in Canada. In times of mutuality, you're filled with ecstasy. And in times of rejection, complete despair and ice cream-related weight gain.

Though often dismissed as "having a crush," limerance cannot be confused as love or a crush. Crushes are fleeting, sparked by physical attraction. Love takes longer to develop, and occurs after knowing a person for who they are, not who you build them up to be.

Limerance is a game, sustained by hope and fear and uncertainty. To win is to strategize — leaving the other guessing and wanting more. To lose is to be honest about how you feel. The less interested your limerant lover is, the more you want them, and the very mystery and indifference that characterizes your relationship is ultimately what destroys it.

By the end of the summer, I realized I had more conversations with my limerant lover in my head than in real life. What I fell in love with wasn't him, but instead the idea of him, and the desire to win him over.

If you've ever been in a similar situation, ask yourself if what you feel is the gentle pulsating of possible love. Or is it the fast and furious beat of limerance, which will always turn out to be a beautiful mistake?

Next Thursday: Limerance part 2, a textersation gone terribly, terribly wrong.

[Reach reporter Erin Hicks at features@thedaily.washington.edu.]