When I say I miss high school, I miss writing terrible poetry in a notebook in a shitty coffee shop that was the closest thing to my house in the suburbs, the kind of coffee shop where someone writing in a notebook for two hours is strange. Wandering around secondhand book stores in Toronto, especially the one on Queen Street that’s gone now, with the really creaky floors, imagining where my books would be. I miss things that look so cheesy when I actually write them out, like driving to the edge of town and sitting on the hood of a car with my friends and looking at stars and making grand pronouncements about life. Making elaborate plans to live in elaborate places doing elaborate things. I don’t miss that frantic teenage feeling, but sometimes it’s nice to be reminded.
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I first wrote this on my Tumblr back in April, but I’ve been in a late-nineties nostalgia spiral all evening (kick-started by a random memory of the late-nineties pre-blog internet) and so I felt it was appropriate here too.