It was simple then, young as a child with his older brother,
and parents, parents that were together, simple to be young, the family trips, the parents that were happy, and my brother that was here.
Nostalgia
I am now eighteen years of visual scars, and an older brother of twenty to share it with. Left to create his own life, I am left to salvage my own. No more older brother, no more family trips, No more parents. No more parent to call, just a man with constant work and an alcoholic.
Nostalgia
To be still and know was the strategy, now its the survival.Lock myself in with music, shut off from everyone else, what the hell am I missing, what will be missing me. To know, what will be the consequence of my action separates me from the working man and the alcoholic.
Nostalgia.
Back to the real world, music gone, hollow point in, here I am again. Think of what will happen, what will be the future consequences. NO. I am not weak. With real friends to call family, the chamber opens and out goes the last resort. I walk out of the room, closed off but open, just eyes and ears to observe, Once again I walk out a better, stronger man.
NOSTALGIA.