The Good Old Days

The good old days


I too was once acclimated to viewing the old episodes through a kaleidoscope of high saturated colour,
A willing signatory to those vibrant and luminous, cloudless days scored with distant ambient melody.
Midsummer nights were galvanic expeditions too intangible to share absolutely.

Sometimes I wonder if consciousness has deep within it a device to distort the perception of those who hark back;
A noble lie to forfend depression using deception in the repugnant guise of patriotic cutlass.
How darkening this mechanism would be though - if essentialist enough to dismiss those honest, simple things.

Let us seek solace in the redundancy package;
that fifteen years from now will deliver new nostalgia about things yet to be experienced.