Movies in my Mind

I hate it.

Oh god, I hate it.

I hate that I can never describe everything that I have ever felt and remembered.

I hate that I can’t make the page feel what I feel.

How do I describe the trip I took when I was 15?

Surrounded by everyone and everything I could have ever needed.

The hotel, the rooms, the games, the coffee, the jokes.

Them.

That every time I think of it, this weird feeling in my heart makes itself feel welcome.

And I can only ever remember. I see everything vividly in my head.

I want to write, not for anyone else.

But, in the hope that the drug that worked then, works even now.

Again.

Nostalgia lingers and lingers and lingers.

Memories taste sweeter and sweeter as life keeps getting bitter.

How do I tell him that I never meant to let him go?

Oh, but nostalgia, the con artist she is.

I forget that he is not who I want now. I don’t recognise him anymore.

I don’t miss who he is now, just who he used to be.

Everything I wish to relive, I cannot.

The greatest tragedy of humankind: remembering.

Not just the memory, but the feeling that came with it.

So, we yearn and yearn and yearn.

We write poetry about the boys we loved, the friendships we lost, and the joy that never seems to stay.

It lingers and lingers and lingers and…