2.22.18

I become overcome with a nostalgia
that tip-toes in,
like a ghost that doesn't know how to float
or how to leave me alone
or how to be quiet and not disturbing.
It haunts me.
It sends me into a specific mode,
a setting I didn't choose to be wired with.
If I close my eyes long enough
I could still feel the air on my bare arms
and the leaves crunching
beneath my feet,
soft and proud,
decaying yet beautiful.
The shackles tied to my feet
send me out to the lake
out on the dock
to drown out the reminders
all around.
Miles and miles of scrolling
brings me back to it.
Frozen, numbed fingertips
unable to delete the remnants.
Like a rubber band always able to bounce back,
I think we've finally snapped.