I'm coming to terms with my age:
Memories are the captives of Time,
Nostalgia is but a hazy, rose tinted wallow of the mind,
And no matter how tightly shut my eyes,
I'm never really back on my childhood street,
With the ever-present puddle,
The goalpost van,
My friends and our stupid siblings.
No, those times are lost to time.
But lost is fine,
They're out there, somewhere,
Unanchored and adrift,
And I can live with that...now.