You and Me, Babe
Beginning of the End
Remembering high school is the equivalent of interpreting a thesis paper in a language you don't speak, write, or read. Irrelevant, counterintuitive, and uncomfortable. Yet here we are. Standing before each other in ruins, thinking only of time spent in our youth. What is it about young love that causes a grown man to hesitate, what is it about the ghost of a laugh that causes the words to die on my tongue? Why, in all this heartbreak—this chaos—are we choosing to endure more? And for what? The memory of half a dozen chocolate roses tucked haphazardly into a school bag?