Is there anything sweeter than the tug of nostalgia pulling you
out of the viscous and shadowy present? Anything more poetic than a sign
taped above the back shelves of a store you wandered into for a bottle of water
and a pack of gum, and how quickly you are willing to abandon your search
in favor of some misty reminder of your unsophisticated youth? Maybe it's the delirium
of the headlines, your shock dismantling into a strange brew of panic and stupor,
like when blood rushes to your head after you get up too fast and the room tilts sideways.
You want so badly to see your old horizon line again, to put the world back at the right angles
you remember. You want to taste the candy of your own innocence, no matter how saccharine
or sentimental, to make that honey drip from your lips and stick to everything it touches.