Nostalgia

I am the sunshine running through
obscure little alleys at 6a.m.
I am the voice in your head when
you have nothing to do and I am the
smell of old books and a wood fire.

I am the sound of the family dog barking
at cows on a hill on a Sunday morning
and I am the memory of a shadow of
all the characters you used to watch
on the small screen in the living room.

I am the friend that you knew for so long
before he eventually moved away, and
became nothing more than a memory.

I am the idealised version of what you were
and how things were when you were
still that young and when the world was
still brand new, and exciting, and was
little more than a glossy magazine.

I am the version of history that disregards
so many of the things that are less than pretty
and glorifies so much that was so mundane.
I am the memory with the bright colours
and the soft focus, and with the
background details fading because of age.

I am not truly how things were;
I am merely how you wish they were.
I am a lie, but I am a happy lie;
a white lie that you don’t mind hearing.
I am simplicity incarnate.