Living With Regrets
It was 9th grade. English was my favorite class, not because I was in love with the subject, but because I loved sitting in front of the boy that I couldn’t get out of my mind. We’d make jokes and giggle, he’d poke me and annoy me, and he’d put on the glasses that I dreaded having to put on. As I sat there in class each day, I’d imagine us together. I’d beg for the class to go by much slower; by the look in his eyes, I knew he was doing the same.
There was this one day that we had happened to be in the computer labs. We were assigned computers next to each other. Once again, we were goofing off, letting time fly by effortlessly. The only thing that makes this day different from all of the ones before is that there were a few extra words said that changed everything.
As I got up to talk to a friend before the end of class, he asked me that question I wanted to hear so badly.
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