Of Nostalgia

of nostalgia: of broken dreams
of broken dresses with broken seams
of everything you'd now regret
of asking if we're even there yet

tell me, Pink: are you still the same?
if I met you today, would it be a game?
if we pretended that we knew who we were
we'd recognize it's become a blur

and Beret-- remember the plots?
our twists and bends and knots
have we changed? would we know?
remember how you've never seen snow?

of nostalgia: of all that we said
of all the times we wished we were dead
of all the fits and all the fights
of the time we'd turn out the lights

and, oh, Obsession-- I remember you
how we'd talk and survive through
but then we left, I remember the impact
one of us broken and one of us cracked

of nostalgia: of demands and tears
of nights stayed up and days of our fears
of wondering how we made it this far
of believing we are who we are

of nostalgia for all that's gone
of the ever breaking dawn
of the smiles I'll throw your way--
I never liked New Zealand, anyway.

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(Author's Note: Sort of my "goodbye" to , and all the people I remember at it. Ahh, when I was a writer with those hundred poems-- with the drama, with the friendships... Tragically, I've since moved on, and my attitude on posting my soul exposing poetry has changed rather a lot. So you get this, with nicknames and nostalgia-- a LOT of nostalgia-- and I go back to my journal.

Thanks, Fiction Press. It was a great ride.)