nostalgic dreadfulness

no. i will not. those crazy thoughts. what are they really? think again. you are a hoarder of memories. stop it.

weak. no, you are a flake. you want it back because someone else has it. what will you do if you get what you think is still yours?

remember that dream? where he got you tickets for a rocket ship across the universe. see those stars in your head now? galactic dust gathering at your wake.

let's talk about beer for a moment, ok? that trappist beer in Belgium. the chimay. sweet and fruity aroma with a hint of pepper. and did you hear about the chimay dorée, a patersbier- meant only to be drunk within the monastery walls.

those memories of yours are patersbiers. it violates a certain code of decorum- ethics even, i think; integrity at least- when you bring them out into the open. there are just things that are meant to be confined. in your case- tucked away in that corner of your brain where ice cream melted under the sun memories are kept, perhaps material for some future literary shit you'd manage to leave trailing at your wake. maybe.

are you ok now? good.