The wind is warm.
The sun is out but not present.
All she can see is the world behind her.
Scared to move forward, I call her, Nostalgia.
She lives life as it should, but the head on her shoulders is filled with memories past…and nothing is forgotten.
She speaks to a friend, acquaintance, anyone who would listen.
There are eyes in the room with her.
Those eyes stare with content.
She understands, this second pair of eyes, if only just pretending to.
Back track to sometime later, because fairy tales never have dates.
The wind is gone.
That familiar sun is gone.
Only the company of rain.
In her eyes, it’s only four walls.
If thoughts were visible…if you could see hurt, there would be so much in the room you couldn’t breathe.
Being left behind.
These are pictures that won’t leave. No matter how tight you shut your eyes.
Imagine emotional struggle.
No one there to hurt you, but yourself.
Sharp shiny blades.
Pale white skin.
Hurt, in a different manner.
Hurt that feels no pain.
And this was every night, dear Nostalgia, you must think her invincible.
She’s nothing of the short.
I couldn’t think of another being so secretive.
So ready to spill it all, if someone just opened the window.
Forward to the present.
Where everyday is smiling through tears.
Although comfort was found in one beautiful girl with knowing eyes.
Funny, that their pain connected them.
Someone to cry on.
Someone to love, and love her back.
But comfort can only cradle you when it’s present.
Picture if you will, a ridiculously huge field.
Not even a field at all.
A large nothing.
She’s standing right in the apex.
Can’t you hear her?
Can’t you see her?