Maybe it’s sad that these are now memories. And maybe it’s not sad.

He realized that if he didn't leave, it would never be his life. It would be theirs.

The inside jokes weren't jokes anymore. they had become stories

I walk around the school hallways and look at the people. I look at the teachers and wonder why they're here. If they like their jobs. Or us. And I wonder how smart they were when they were fifteen. Not in a mean way. In a curious way. It's like looking at all the students and wondering who's had their heart broken that day, and how they are able to cope with having three quizzes and a book report due on top of that. Or wondering who did the heart breaking. And wondering why.

It's kind of like when you look at yourself in the mirror and you say your name. And it gets to a point where none of it seems real.

And how different her face looked the first time she really liked a boy who was not on a poster on her wall. And how her face looked when she realized she was in love with that boy.

And even if she says no, and really means yes, then quite frankly she's playing games and isn't worth the price of dinner.