This boy. This day. This dress. That smirk.
At the risk of sounding entirely too nostalgic for my own good I would give anything to experience it one more time. Young love is so much easier, and so fresh. Everything is the first time, running through the school’s parking lot, trying to dodge the rain later that night, sitting on my bed after we danced our brains out and talking about how nothing in a few months would ever be the same as it was right then, everything has to change all the time, or it dies, and in changing, it dies anyway. What a night, what a life, what a time.