I try to not reminisce,
It’s not that I hate it or at least I don’t anymore.
But I don’t ever want feel unavailable to now,
And consumed by the past.
It unfortunately seems,
There are some that choose this path.
A path of reminiscing and wishing,
Whining, regretting, and ultimately disappointing.
I could easily say how much I miss things that were once a daily vision,
A sight to behold at almost any moment of my choice.
But what good would it do,
For me or you?
Even as I write,
I feel so redundant.
It’s not that I’m uninspired,
But I’m hungry for a new audience.
In some ways;
I long for the childhood fantasy of not being seen, by those I can’t see on my own,
to be real.
Except for the fact I wouldn’t mind not being seen,
By some of the people I see most often.
Give them time wonder where I am and how I’ve been,
A bit of room to reminisce if need be.
A sick question that bugs me;
Why is it that those we often reminisce about,
Are the people who don’t want anything to with us?
Why is it so much easier to have a fondness for those who are far out of reach,
Instead of appreciating who’s in front of us?
Why do we voluntarily live in the past,
With not much hope or care about the future let alone the present?
There is a time for rejoicing and mourning,
Waking, breathing, and reminiscing even sleeping.
But we must not waste our one life away,
Only to wake up on our final day
still caught up with