When I get really old, I’m not going to be that grandpa who tells his grandkids about how great his time was and how kids nowadays just don’t get it.
I’m going to be that great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandpa who tells his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandkids about how much better they have it now, about how awful it was back in my day when we had only two genders and if our physical bodies were too damaged we would disappear forever and you had to wait on average more than fifteen years before your brain could comprehend concepts like calculus and we were stuck in only one planet and my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandkids will look at me sceptically and think I’m making up stories or misremembering even though they know that our brains cannot misremember anything.
Life would be ideal if the people who had a crush on you glowed in a colored bubble, only you could see. The color is why they like you:
• Green for everything
• pink for personality
• Black for looks
• Blue is unknown, they’re confused idk