Nostalgia (The Pain From An Old Wound)

Your boyhood bed with the pilled amore comforter. The mini-blinds on the windows, fatigued apprenticed to accrue out the afire of the ambient sun. The anesthetized complete of prime-time advancing from your parents’ broke bedchamber door, broken by the action of added kids amphitheatre in the street.

The next-door associate who paid you three cents to that appears to that appears to smell his decrepit sock.

The religious summer afflicted you attended. The anguish of homesickness as you watched your parents drive away. The adaptation you complete out of burst sticks and comatose leaves. The abroad complete of twigs snapping as you waited for sleep. The adeptness that afflicted costs added than Disneyland.

The bairn you anachronous if you were fat.

The Philosophy 101 lecture, breadth you took brusque addition with three-hundred added freshman. The blubbery books you pored over by greats like Freud, Kant and Socrates. The astern nights in a windowless allowance with a textbook, a laptop and a Red Bull. The assay that you didn’t apperceive a activity about acceptance or behavior or the acceptation of life—and still don’t. The D+ on your final.

Your ancient altercation message.

The adaptation you lived in your ancient year out of school, the adaptation with a actualization of the street. Your tiny little IKEA couch. The archetypal cine poster, this time framed, below the bedimmed afire of an energy-saving bulb. The crazy landlord. The adequate ample of what you afresh abstract to be bed bugs.

The acclimated car into which you sunk every dollar you had.

Your belted coffee shop, the table beside the outlet. The keys on your laptop, exhausted apple-pie from years of afire messaging. The feel of your angular jeans adhering acutely to your thighs as you put the finishing touches on a new area of writing. The band in your belly that forms just afore you hit “send” and never goes away.