Nostalgia’s not for me,
The present
is where I long to be.
But when Robert sings,
the past takes wing,
And memories bloom
Like lipstick
they cling.

A tear may gather,
though boys don't cry,
His voice, just like a dream,
drifts through the sky.

Each note,
a thread, weaving time and space,
Binding my heart
to a fleeting embrace.