Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Nostalgia Poison

You repeat the story I've heard scores of times. I've heard all the stories scores of times. Like an album pulled out of a sacred drawer. Enshrined. Worshiped. But stagnant. Never changing. Dead.

Yes, when I was fourteen, I.... When I was in the second grade, I....

But there is terrible meaning behind the words.

I stand before you and stare into your blind eyes. I am a collection of lifeless memories. A wish gone wrong. A failed cure for your needs. I didn't fill your holes. But do you even feel the holes or know how large they are?

Until you understand a person, you have no right to want from that person, no right to take. Give the gift of your attention first, take graciously, and demand the same in return.

2 comments:

Beanie said...

Who's this about? Reminds me of my parents...

jason evans said...

I think you know what I'm talking about, then. The last statement I intended generally.