Listening to the suburbs every night on repeat,
Wishing I was anywhere but where I was right then
Mom said you’re a dreamer go and get ‘em honey,
Wish I’d bottled up that feeling,
So I could drink it down again.
I get my guilty pleasure out of reminiscing,
But I’m still searching for what I could never find in a man.
Everybody’s got advice,
They want me to listen,
They all have good intentions
But it feels like they just don’t understand.
Oh my my my,
My past won’t die
I’m holding on for life to the memories
But nostalgia, you’re gonna be the death of me
Always looking in the rear view & it’s easy to see
That nostalgia, you’re gonna be the death of me.
About the Creator
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Comments (2)
I really really enjoyed this, in a sad and, yes, relatable way. A feeling akin to nostalgia, actually...
This was so relatable because I'm always stuck in my past, living there. Loved your poem!