Fall feels like nostalgia.
Like the end of summer memories.
The walks to get candy as a child. Eating sour keys and playing the Sims. Games of hide and seek. Basketball at the BJCC. Frozen burritos. Watching Arthur in my room. Playing with Barbies. Volkswagen Beatles. Abercrombie and Fitch. Digital pets. Trampolines. Music videos. CDs. Dance classes with friends. Vince Carter. Water bras.
Sometimes, it’s hard to remember that version of me.
Bold but afraid. The part that’s still the same.
Was I happier then?
Built-in friends from the playground. Neighbours the same age.
The wounds from childhood still exist. The feeling of never fitting in. Friendly to all, friend to none.
The seasons change, and the pattern repeats.
Like the leaves in fall.
The leaves may change; they fall, but they’ll always come back in spring.
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Nostalgia feels like the leaves changing colours. You know they’re about to fall. Trying to cling on to them before it’s too late.
What happens to us when the leaves fall? When we can’t recognize ourselves anymore. When we know the pattern is about to continue.
Do we just wait for the spring?
Is it possible to change the pattern?