A remembrance of an ache.
For the way things were, the things that were. Now, I don't even want to remember those things, who does? But I do remember the ache I used to get when I used to think of those things, those ways. When I miss those things, those ways. I haven't been good at letting go. Just once more, just the once. That flutter in my heart, the tightening of breath. But I know it'll never stop. When it's there, it'll be there. If I get it once, I'll want it again. Or I'll want the fantasy version of what I know I shouldn't repeat. The ache has gone, the memory remains. Nostalgia is one hell of a drug.
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