Too Much Nostalgia

I read about those days
While thinking deeply
This morning

With bright eyes and warmth
With small dreams and beautiful faces
With big lights or quiet afternoons

I became like this a long time ago
It feels like eons have passed
Merely three years


Secret smiles, songs under my breath
Worthless hours became gold
The future was a distant haze

My soul has traveled miles from that time
I don't even recognize the past me
With your little drawings and stories

Your fairytales and wanderings
Your ideals and assumptions
Your simple dreams

I miss the soft breeze and the slow moments.


Author Note: All the feelings. Ahem, anyway, I was looking through old sketches today and I flashed back to my 2nd trip to New York City during the first week of May, 2010. It was warm that week, and the day we went in, the sun was shining on the city. Our visit was more enjoyable for me than any other I have ever taken-just myself and my grandmother. The city was beautiful for the first time to me, and when it began to rain, I'm sure everyone walking by thought my expression meant I'd lost $10K. I honestly just wanted a strawberry ice cream cone, more sunshine, a pretty summer hat, nice shoes, and that handsome guy from the wholesale jewelry shop to join us, and I'd be set for the next week. ^^ Those were the dreams and happiness of my fourteen year old self-not spectacular, but remarkably similar to me now. Treasuring small moments is my specialty, dreaming about the big picture has only to do with the millions of moments I know will complete it.
      Even more clear to me is the song I was singing quietly while driving back home, munching Doritos in a time when how much weight I gained was not an issue and no one wanted to share them with me because "you like spicy stuff too much, eat them and drink all the water you want to". The track in my mind was Dashboard Confessional's 'Stolen', and I'd recently fallen in hopeless love with it. When I finally reached my home, my best friends had planned the surprise of inviting me to see them, and so-back when I was mannerable and patient and always asked nicely of my mother to do things-I got to spend a few hours out under a big tree, green leaves swaying in the warm spring wind, critiquing my artwork and observing things. The entire week is a memory I think I might treasure until I die-or get altzheimers, of course. :P

-Argentia.