J.

We went to high school about a billion years ago or so it seems now. You in your grey Chevy Impala with it’s headers and the chronic case of needing things fixed.

Me with a desire to study during spare and you begging me to escape the confines of the school library. Somedays, I wish I had taken those risks.

Dropping school for a rendezvous in a field somewhere wrapped up in a blanket and feeling like there was no where else to be.

But these are the things we think about after, when we learn that skipping a class won’t put us behind, but may have moved us forward in love.