When I was in high school, I was a trouble maker. I would constantly skip classes to go to the bathroom or just walk the halls, or maybe go to the library: I’d still do my work, I just didn’t wanna be in class. I also beat up a few people, even exchange students. It makes me look bad, but it’s only because they did something to deserve it. You were the opposite. You’d stay in class and actually do your work, you would sometimes not to them and escape class for whatever reason, but it wasn’t the same as mine.

over the years, I still had a good GPA, just not a good reputation. Since mine was fairly high, I could’ve gone to college, in which my mom encouraged me to, I studied criminal justice, and you studied something else. As the years went on, I matured and settled down, and also confessed my feelings for you. We had our ups and downs, especially since I was trying to find myself after my bad boy phase, but we still were together through everything.

we got married and now live in a nice home, with nice furniture and a warm bed. We don’t have any kids or pets yet, it’s just us and the neighbors. I work as a detective, and you do your own thing. On this particular day, I’m sitting in one of the living room couch chairs while resting my legs in front of me with a matching leg rest, I smoke from a pipe as it fills the air, our TV playing some movies in the back like singing in the rain, Shirley temple, etc. I hold my newspaper and read, the sunlight filling the room for the nice afternoon, and my black coffee resting on the nearby coffee table. Ah, how nice.