The Addiction Of Nostalgia

I am a child at a hockey game

Shelby smiles and waves at me 

We’re both up here in the nosebleeds

And neither of us wants to be here

So we walk down to the bottom of the stairs 

Eyes no longer on the game

Eyes not on each other either

My gaze is fixed at a point past her ear 

Anything to not look at her and see 

The shadow of rejection in her wondered eyes

I am a teen in the football stands

A bass drum behind me, Chelsea’s ponytail in front

At my graduation party

We kissed in front of my flat screen

Our teeth clinked together

I thought, does this count as my first kiss

No, it doesn’t, a first kiss is passion-wet heat

Not whatever this is or was or will be

I am an adult standing in front of my house,

Nikki has pulled up in her car, I have to give clarity

We’ve been on a few dates now and we haven’t kissed

I’m a coward, I’m a fool, I am bone-shakingly scared

So I kiss her, lips meeting, hand on the divot in her lower back

This is passion-wet heat, a real kiss, add some rain and this is the Notebook

But soon the gray sweeps in, crumpling this moment like a discarded receipt

These memories carry a welcoming rose tint, an escape from today

They pull at me inexorably, a current constantly dragging at my wading feet

They are my dreams and my nightmares, 

My shame and my joy, 

My peace and my madness

My mind screams for relief and longs for release

I am a junkie for the addiction of nostalgia

I worry that I’ll overdose

My memories consuming my reality

Until all I am is a shell, playing faded film past my empty eyes