Untitled #29

This morning, I drank a tall glass of nostalgia. I felt the heavy taste of the memories of a better time slide down the back of my throat. They left a sharp aftertaste, one that lingers on my tongue and keeps reminding me of the past. I swallowed my longing for yesterday like two pain relievers in the small orange container with long words I cannot pronounce. Capsules of outdated recollections I'm scared of facing head-on because reality has never been a friend to me. I met with my flashbacks for coffee after work. They were obnoxious and rude, forcing me to think back on my past decisions and the mistakes that accumulate like receipts in the bottom of my tote bad, like bobby pins under the couch, like the back pieces of my earrings that get lost in the shower when I wash my hair. I try not to let misery and her friend loneliness come by anymore. Last time, they left a mess of tears and confusion on the bedroom floor. 

I drank the glass of nostalgia all at once, hoping the effects would fade away like Monday morning hangovers when I'm too busy to realize I'm a zombie. Lifeless from too much despair in the air I breathe.