nostalgia.

The beautiful boy

opens his closed eyes;

an eyelids flutter

delicate and fine;

A simple smile

and I'm alive;

But then I wake alone.

The boy with the red bag

passes me by again

without noticing my glance;

I fall into line

and he'll never know

my thoughts every time;

But there he goes again.

The green-eyed boy

walks by himself;

lost in my thoughts,

I want to melt;

he walks quietly

poignant and receptive;

But he's everything I can't be.

The achingly beautiful boy

of nostalgia;

And the only thing that

I can't change;

The beautiful boy

turns away from the sun

and smiles again

and I'm alive.