Whenever I take the L,
Nostalgia hits me like a late-running train
That grinds my face to dust rising in the sun’s
Projection on my mind
Inundated with a traffic of pictures
Long left behind in the lights
Sometimes more white than bright
Habiting this train squeezing through a tube.
Ghosts under the daylight;
Memories that live long after their execution
That I raise in a holy shrine like a gentile; pagan; sinner raises a dead baby to an unknown, yet familiar, God. god.
Begging for freedom from this pain,
Resurrection once again.
Begging a return to this euphoria,
Praying to escape nostalgia.
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