There is nostalgia in the taste of mediocrity and cold mornings, messy desks and HB #2 pencils

There are memories grasped tight in the fists of my bathroom drawer

Tangled fingers and starlight kisses, Hamlet and four different colored highlighters

I inhale and hazy pieces of the past cascade over me

Pine and apple and fresh new eraser and the ironically named So In Love Victoria's Secret perfume

Oranges taste like dinners eaten over too much work and

filling up summer days and

a piece of adventure slipped into your pocket, just in case

Coffee smells like rancid morning quarrels with numb fingers;

too-bright kitchen lights and red pens and

lectures about modern japan and the opium wars

Pomegranate lip balm tastes like long July nights and

not knowing where to put my hands and

not wanting to let go.