Some nights when the temperature harmonizes with the breeze and the lights flicker into sunset orange and business green, I enter a parallel time stream with first kiss benches and breakup parks and get hopelessly lost until my head spins and my feet stumble over my past, my present swirling through my vision and

This city makes me so nostalgic that I want to double over and throw up every memory I've ever made and all the years I've put behind me.

I'd leave them there on the grass in front of a church like they mean nothing more than a good night and a little too much wine, faded specters of relationships passed.

Reality serves me cold concrete mornings and plane tickets to the desert where I can breathe again. the humidity and smog and every word I've ever said clinging to the inside of my lungs evaporating, making room for what can be, an empty canvas for landscapes and blueprints of dreams yet to come.