Nostalgia chimes, and I answer her calls.

Nostalgia chimes, and I answer her calls.

In between burning suns and melting moons, the dark silver lining that exposes itself in fine shards of hope takes me on a walk to question me about my placement on the ground beneath me. it often questions me about answers I don’t believe to have. As she hears my silence, she pulls the carpet beneath me as we wander in-about my past. Nostalgia chimes, and I answer her calls- willingly. I knew about the questions she’d ask yet silence seemed opt. Even though she pulled the carpet from beneath, I knew she was. Nostalgia often knocks at my door – it is no guest, yet with every visit she turns out to be my sorrow. An Undiagnosed illness which frequently visits to poke my dermis with slight salutations, yet the harm feels awakening. Even if its with cold water or a sharp edge.
Reality is she – taunting often.