So Much For Nostalgia

This stoy keeps writing itself, pages and chapters of you

and I, of things that I wish would have happened,

of things that I wish you would say,

then you whispered to me said I missed you,

as I silently basked in your words, these eight letters

that keep me from growing, out and away from you

we still return to the seasons where these corners

and cracks of this street are still leading me home

this tongue just keeps tying itself, unspoken words

from the mouth of a bottle of things that I wish

I could tell you, of things that you can't understand,

and we still return to the life where these...

I keep running back in your direction, to these beaches

and swings that we know, it's as empty

as when we had left it, still writing these letters to you

the truth behing story incredible glories of you

and what my mind has made you,

the life bearing pictures these porches

these splinters and summers that are making me whole

still I fly high and away from these dreams

still I fly high and away from these things