when nostalgia comes darting back

from the place in my heart
where i thought i left her,
she pants,
sweat beads sliding down
her porcelain skin.
she presses her lips
to my ear,
letting silky words unravel and
form cobwebs of
the things that used to be
a part of my life.
she sews quilts of memories
before my eyes,
of beaches at midnight
with the violet sky
swallowing it whole,
of a couple sitting
with their fingers intertwined,
the winter wind
bringing them together,
of climbing to the tops
of sycamore trees
before their branches grow frail
and send life plummeting
to the brittle ground.
nostalgia brings these scenes
back to me,
they flood my mind with
the waves that i was sure
had receded.
she whispers,
“you can’t escape the past,”
the candy-coated phrase
engraving itself into the glass sky.
“so don’t even try to run.”