On a trip back home, I recently connected with my high school boyfriend. He was that guy that so many have—the sweet, loyal and fun first relationship that’s the equivalent of a training bra: comfortable and exciting, but not something that can last forever. I broke up with him—quite dramatically—within my first few days of college because I wanted to experience all that the single life could offer me. I had been tied down most of high school, so why not explore?
It was a rough breakup and we stayed out of contact for the better part of the last nearly nine years, but with one Facebook message, we agreed to meet for our first legal drink together. I don’t have a car anymore — thanks NYC transit!— so just like he did all of those years ago, he stopped by my house to pick me up. As he walked up the stairs, my heart started racing with all of those butterflies that I felt when we first kissed, when we first had sex, when he told me he loved me.
Though we had both grown up and changed—he was stronger and more confident—we picked up right where we left off. Being around him for a few hours was easy and carefree, and we laughed how everything turned out. He had wanted to be a chiropractor back then and he just passed his exam to start residency. I wanted to be a writer in New York, and well, you’re reading this article right now.
All those nights we spent lying outside under the smothering cascade of North Carolina stars, talking about the future like it was something distant and far away, intangible, and unrealistic, I never imagined we’d be sitting at a bar as adults, sipping on $4 Bud Lights, like nothing had changed at all.
This article was originally published on Bustle. To read the rest, click here.