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Oct 2020
Lost to us were the
bright and sunny days in the 60s,
lazy afternoons & the pristine scent of grass after rain,
all that matters is invisible to our naked eye.

Time is the bottle
we cram memories with &
fleeting is our being ****** into an unprepared tomorrow,
drowning in the long-gone reverie of yesterday

Nostalgia is the sweet lie we murmured, the small
cloud of dust suspended in the air &
the smoke rings spiralled toward
a December night sky.

Forgotten dreams & present madness is a
scratched vinyl record stuck in the fissure of time;
crackling noise muffling our sighs —
Gone, they say, gone.
I'm feeling a bit weird recently, like I'm longing for something I have never experienced, missing old days before I was even born.
Old days old days, why are they always better than the present?
Written by
Summer  near the ocean
(near the ocean)   
       CZ, Erik Luo, jordan, --- and Bogdan Dragos
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