The years in which you’re sixteen to eighteen is such a crazy point in your life because it’s usually within that period that you have your heart broken for the first time. The pain you experience seems to be an ocean in which you are drowning and you use that exact shitty metaphor in pages and pages of blog poetry and song lyrics. Your heart withers in your chest and you know truly that you will never love anyone that much ever again.
What comes with age is the cynicism of knowing how fucking ridiculous a thought that is. Every time I hear a younger kid lamenting the loss of some high school love I have to resist the urge to say something like “Man up, wuss. It’s gonna happen again. And again. And again. Seriously, how could you think that ‘the one that got away’ could be your lab partner? She’s still wearing braces, fer chrissakes.”
And I’m only 25. Fuck, dude. Shit just got real.
The years in which you’re sixteen to eighteen is such a crazy point in your life because it’s usually within that period that you have your heart broken for the first time. The pain you experience seems to be an ocean in which you are drowning and you use that exact shitty metaphor in pages and pages of blog poetry and song lyrics. Your heart withers in your chest and you know truly that you will never love anyone that much ever again.
What comes with age is the cynicism of knowing how fucking ridiculous a thought that is. Every time I hear a younger kid lamenting the loss of some high school love I have to resist the urge to say something like “Man up, wuss. It’s gonna happen again. And again. And again. Seriously, how could you think that ‘the one that got away’ could be your lab partner? She’s still wearing braces, fer chrissakes.”
And I’m only 25. Fuck, dude. Shit just got real.
