Echoes of the Past

I tapped nostalgia on the shoulders, 
And it called to me.

I wasn’t resistant to its grasp.
I’ve never been strong in this way,
Always compliant to its quiet plea.
Nostalgia has always unsettled me.

How is it that I wish for the future 
Thinking only about how I long to return?
They told me once to never grow up, 
Yet every candle I extinguished 
begged time to speed up.

Now every birthday carries a muted dread,
A fear that the clock is now irreversibly sped.

I recall the past in saturated colors,
A warm light that spills across all my memories.
Holding it tight, hoping it might stay alive. 

This comfort feels like a quiet snare. 
No path back to the past, 
Only life’s unblinking clock pushing me forward.
I can’t plan the life I have already lived, 
I can only chart the future that lies ahead of me. 

But what if what felt most real
Has already passed?
All that has happened seems more promising 
Than what the future may hold in store.

I no longer see the familiar bright colors
And yellow lights from my childhood memory.
Only a grayscale broadcast of grim news 
And the relentless stir of humanity.

Isn’t it strange to plan for a future 
That might never arrive?
The world seems to fracture right at my feet. 
With every new headline, I can only see
A world that simply might not await me.

When I tapped nostalgia on the shoulders,
I carried one silent plea. 
That it could have just swept me off my feet, 
To the safe haven in the echoes of my dreams.

I've never been resistant to nostalgia.
And it seems, it never truly resisted me. 

---

---