This poem makes me think about what me and my best friends will be like when we get older. It makes me pictured us old and wrinkly, chatting about the memories that haven't even happened yet, the memories that we will create; without knowing that we will be talking about them when we’re out of school. Memories: That time when we sat on my roof and yelled at intoxicated people and the time that time when we attempted to bake. We have so many memories already. I can’t Imagine how many we’re going to have when we’re sixty. “When we get older” even when we do grow up and get jobs we’ll still be saying “when we get older”