When I was in high school I read about how nostalgia used to be the name for a medical condition, and that in olden old-timey times people were actually said to die from it. It's just the sort of thing that sixteen-year-old me would cling on to. When I moved in September, I ended up going through all my poems and journals from high school. Man, did I ever emote some emotions. "Your eyes are the trash-can fires curling smoke signals into the smog-pink urban sunset." YES, REALLY.
Oh, I'd like to think I'm heaps more ma-toor than I was then, but I'm still the same crybaby ball of feelings. I gained some perspective. I learned to separate hurt from pain. And sometimes, I learned, even the pain isn't really so bad. Daniel Johnston said, "Got a broken heart/and you can't break a broken heart." Like that.
Still, sometimes I wake up here smelling the lovely, dying leaves and I'm so steeped in nostalgia I can't move. Mandarin oranges in a Jell-O mold. A fly in amber.
Seriously, though, by what alchemy does Autumn smell exactly the same every year?
1 comment:
you make me feel things that i'm feeling.
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