K
kokomojoe
Guest
I'm sure several of you have been at a place you call home and have made some heartwarming memories. This is something I wrote about how so much of what I've experienced fell apart and eventually led to the desire of hitting the road once more. Coming home seemed like a good idea at the time but that proved me wrong sooner than later.
The depressing nostalgia bites at my heels.I remember the times of hanging out with friends and manifesting the drug induced memories plated with gold. I remember feeling the bonds that seemed indestructible. However, people change into forms that seem so foreign as to what you're familiar with. I find myself sitting out in the cold listening to folk punk bands who are no longer together and drinking whatever beers I happen to find in my parents' fridge and embracing this drunken memorial to what no longer is. I wouldn't mind going back to what once was and manifesting the memories of the present mind, but the present will never revert to what it once was. It's currently a cyclone of trivial nonsense where nostalgia is nothing more but completely obsolete. The people I was once friends with are no different than strangers, the bonds I feel are attached only to the past and can never be found in daily sobriety. The destruction of which is the only gateway to pleasant memories that I no longer make. Everything seemed so real, so permanent, and most of all genuine. At this point in my life these events will never live up to once were, but rather be buried in my conscious and embraced just as the same as any fantasy. Nostalgia is a dirty liar that leaves you begging for memories yet makes you realize why they'll never be the same.
The depressing nostalgia bites at my heels.I remember the times of hanging out with friends and manifesting the drug induced memories plated with gold. I remember feeling the bonds that seemed indestructible. However, people change into forms that seem so foreign as to what you're familiar with. I find myself sitting out in the cold listening to folk punk bands who are no longer together and drinking whatever beers I happen to find in my parents' fridge and embracing this drunken memorial to what no longer is. I wouldn't mind going back to what once was and manifesting the memories of the present mind, but the present will never revert to what it once was. It's currently a cyclone of trivial nonsense where nostalgia is nothing more but completely obsolete. The people I was once friends with are no different than strangers, the bonds I feel are attached only to the past and can never be found in daily sobriety. The destruction of which is the only gateway to pleasant memories that I no longer make. Everything seemed so real, so permanent, and most of all genuine. At this point in my life these events will never live up to once were, but rather be buried in my conscious and embraced just as the same as any fantasy. Nostalgia is a dirty liar that leaves you begging for memories yet makes you realize why they'll never be the same.