Years have passed and nothing matters anymore and by nothing I mean this and then and that.
I mean the wind is subtly skipping my soles again and you aren't as present as you used to be.
I remember, again, crying in my office, barely crying, and drinking a beer with my sock feet pressed to a winter window. I'm pretty sure most of that memory is jumbled and/or wrong, but what's true is that it feels kind of good now. It tastes and smells kind of warm, like a cold day in a warm movie.
He says nostalgia is a prison. I said nostalgia's what you make it.