Nostalgia?

We always had it good, didn't we, baby? Sneaking around was a thrill, but the funny thing about walking on eggshells is that the shards got imbedded in our heels, eventually making it impossible to move forward.

So, you know me...I just quit trying to like your music and the layer of dust that coated your room from years of racing around on the back roads.

The sunlight that filtered through the trees today reminded me of when we first stood side to side, staring straight ahead but still managing to be sweetly aware of each other's presence. Two feet and two years separated us, but those were just numbers, baby...we never were good at math.

The memory is a strange device. I remember late nights outside, shooting old fireworks and irritating the neighbors. I can't forget sitting on the icy concrete, watching your thin legs stretch to the rusty chain net as my own legs slowly went numb. I remember your ancient guitar, a gift from some obscure family member. Do you still remember the song you wrote me or has it become a despicable memory as well?

Hate me. Go ahead. Hate the parking lot of the bank and the idling car we sat in for three hours. Hate rhythms you beat out to me. Hate the insensitive girl I became.

Most of all, hate those damn eggshells. We will never be able to dig them out of our aching feet, baby.