Aug 2015
The air seems cool and crisp in memory, and perhaps it was, then. Or maybe I'm simply lost now, and looking back to find my way, I couldn't say for sure.
I do know that something is off, though not to be penned to a face or a name. But what then could cause such unrest in so young a soul, to feel old like canyons, withered away?
Teenage angst may play a part, though years late on que, still seeing bits of broken heart, but this is nothing new.
Maybe then some trait of time does haunt me in my thoughts, a mid-life-crisis In my prime, to keep me lost to some degree.
My only way to deal with life is simply passing by, so I see it in nostalgic view, a vague impression of present state to keep me walking onward.
I do know that something is off, though not to be penned to a face or a name. But what then could cause such unrest in so young a soul, to feel old like canyons, withered away?
Teenage angst may play a part, though years late on que, still seeing bits of broken heart, but this is nothing new.
Maybe then some trait of time does haunt me in my thoughts, a mid-life-crisis In my prime, to keep me lost to some degree.
My only way to deal with life is simply passing by, so I see it in nostalgic view, a vague impression of present state to keep me walking onward.
For years now, I have felt some vague impression of nostalgia constantly lingering over me. Something much of my writing reflects. I have tried my best to describe it for a long time, but it isn't quite tangible enough. I live my life through reflection, that's the best description I have.
