Succumbing to Nostalgia
Flashback to 12am at the gare;
I’m standing there in the cold
dressed in a long plaid coat
waiting for you.
The same way you’d wait for me
outside of the Monoprix
leaning against the wall,
smoking the cigarettes you gave up every six days.
Midday or midnight: always.
Now meetings are memories
and we forget the little things
that were everything in the moment.
I think I’ve romanticized you
and my recollections are invented.
Still wanting to freeze time
and have you as I did those first nights.
Pause it all days prior to the denouement
as we stood in a grocery shop
laughing at my sunburned face.
I miss that; I think of it infrequently, but deeply.
It overwhelms me: always.
Why convince me that you’re not worth it?
You know you are.
Why not say what you were really thinking?
That I wasn’t.
