Pallet Town

anarchoptimist:

So I’ll call my friends for beers and try to drink away the years of believing what you wrote in my yearbook. There’s no changing the direction those years took now. And we’ll play our favorite songs, and we’ll have to sing along to pretend that we’re reliving the old days. I’ll pretend that you aren’t stuck in your old ways now. It must take a mastermind, or some kind of genius, to figure out the reasons behind all of this and why I’m not over it. I’m still not over it.