Nostalgia is a narcissist


Nostalgia knocks on my door at 6:10pm.
She brings photographs as reminders, mostly of this time last year.
She wears a convincing smile as she shows me one of myself with hot chocolate cupped in hands and lights sparkling in my eyes.
I remember the holiday music playing.
She whispers how life was so much easier than it is now.
I almost believe her for a moment before closing the door in her face.

Nostalgia knocks on my door at 2:30am.
She brings me pages filled with stories from years past of people long forgotten.
She speaks of unkept promises as she wears the ashes of the bracelet I burned.

Nostalgia knocks on my door when everything is silent.
I invite her inside and let her stay for tea.
Teardrops fall into my cup.
Hers, on the other hand, remains forever empty and yet I always want to drink from it.

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