Nostalgia,
A trace,
Of something gone,
Past,
Before...

As I stood looking back,
I couldn't help but feel disconnected.

My body was rooted here on this spot,
But my soul was taking a dive,
Going on a ride,
Down the stream of my memories.

The nostalgia entity,
Isn't just about a feeling,
A familiarity so deep,
It touches the heart,
With emotional hands.

You feel the hurt,
As memories stitch themselves,
To your heart,
Memories resurfaced,
From the depths of the shadowed mind,
A mind shrouded by the veil of present day.

Smiles,
Tears,
The byproducts of nostalgia...

I see so many familiar faces,
I hear so many familiar sounds,
I read so many familiar words,
And the only thing less familiar,
Is me,
For I have changed,
My mind has moved on,
But the memories,
Will always stay the same.

As I walk down the corridors of my past,
I see the ghosts of yesteryear.

Ghosts that are not scary,
But ghosts that invoke your emotions,
As they turn heads to look at you,
As they run to you,
Entering your body,
Touching your soul,
So happy that you have paid them a visit.

They are children in the playground of the mind,
And happy they are that you,
Their parent,
Should come to visit them.

It is truth be told,
That we are parents of our memories,
For we made them,
And gave birth to them,

The child produced...
When we...
And experiences...
Mate...

The intertwining of time,
And memories,
Is a dance ever beautiful,
And so touching...

As I experience the familiarity,
Of the certain past,
I feel the emotions swirling within.

It is so much more easier,
And beautiful,
To dwell in a beautiful past.

But then again...
One must know...

The living do not dwell with the ghosts of the past.

We can visit,
But we cannot hold on to it.

The future is uncertain,
But that is the only way we can go.

As I smile at the ghosts of my memories,
They smile back,
Knowing as I turned towards the future,
That one day I would visit them again.

I won't abandon my memories,
For they are me,
For they made me the way I am,
I am the child of my child.

My past is my child,
And I am the child of my past,
For the past makes me the way I am today.

I will be back in the future,
Will be back to walk,
Down the road of nostalgia.