He sat drearily in the back row of an English class, illuminated by the depressing fluorescent lights. What is it about fluorescent lighting that takes all the cheer out of a room? They shone and they made him quite melancholy. Now, a proper student would be enthralled with his current studies and would be able to properly suppress his penchant for woolgathering, but being a proper student is no sane way to complete grade school.

He wrote her initials on his palm. He was always told that love will addle your brain, but he always found it to his advantage to constantly be in a state of volatile neuroticism and placid sanity. He lived for the hormones. The hormones that run rampant on his body, tearing at brain tissue and making blood seethe with unprecedented vim. Y-E-S. No, not ever. Never.

-Chris

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