Old photos and memories

are such dangerous things

when you’re prone to melancholy

That nostalgia reaches right up

and pulls me down

reminding me of moments past

as if nothing will be that bright again

Instead of looking back fondly

I find myself with empty holes

where those people and places should be

as if not being right here right now

means there’ll never be back

as if something is missing

and that picture is all I have left

It’s not the fault of the images

that perfectly capture in time

a brief moment of happiness

but rather of my head

and some part of me that wishes

that all good times could last

and in the in-betweens

that part refuses to understand

that nothing is forever

and there’s no such thing

as permanent instant gratification

there are lives out there to lead

and someday soon this bright skies

will likely return

but right here, right now

those faces are somewhere else

and those memories are what I have

not as some twisted, painful reminder

but as a promise that nothing

is ever always as bad as it seems