I'd sell you for half a pizza.

It's times like these that are quite possibly the times that everyone talks about. The time of their youth. Living young and living cheap. Pay check to pay check. Spending hours doing absolutely nothing but wasting time and growing cramps from sitting in one position from now until you're laid straight for the first time in your short life, and the lid is closed over your face. But quite frankly, that's not the point here. The point is that we have less than few moments to live and address our sadness and the sacristy of the solutions. We used to dream of these times. Being that seventeen year old girl or boy with our friends and cars. With our reckless ideas and productions. Our curled hair and blackened skin. How everything we'll see will sit quietly in our pupils, rolling around in circles, pacing back and forth creating black holes in our eyes. How the patterns on our skin will smooth out and be pulled tight as we try to find our identity in our stretched our finger prints. All the same. One person after another. One stamp on one paper with the black ink that turns blue after a while. We'll all tie our childhood memories on the tips of our hair and on the ends of our noses. We'll drag them around until they become part of us and we stop being embarrassed about that fact. We'll call each other names, and hope that they receive the love message on the other end of the insult. We'll laugh it off, but really be praying to God that he'll send the message for us. It's time like these when you'll tell your kids that an ice-cream cone was only a buck fifty and that the road north of the gas station was where you had your first kiss.  Being seventeen and cheap is basically everything you've heard it would be. Calling your friends, but still feeling a little too lonely. Giving away your heart too quickly while trying to guard everything about it. Wanting everything but being too afraid to run fast to catch it. Giving too little or too much and only noticing the distances. Counting days and classes, texting mom or dad to "get your outta this joint." Ditching class and complaining of a failing grade. Caring too much but pretending to not notice. Being seventeen and cheap is everything and nothing it's cracked up to be. Being seventeen and cheap is hard and simple. It's times like these that the only thing that truly matters is swimming in a dark pond with people you'll tell stories about someday.

Remember that time I thought I was in love with you?
I'm afraid I've done it again.