I long for the days when the cars made jolly poot poots as they passed girls in short skirts on the street, long replaced by the angry tweets of today. I long for a time when men wore real pants, pants with pleats that draped nicely over nice bums. I long for someone to touch me the way I deserve to be touched. I long for liquor, for oblivion, I long for clarity and intelligence.
I long for the sun to lick my skin, every day to wake me up and whisper that my every day will be better than my last.
I long for the soft peaches that are my mother’s cheeks.
I long for answers. I long for understanding, the piece of knowledge that makes everything fall into place as perfectly as if that ultimate thought had blossomed in my mind rather than being placed there. I long for truth and a certainty that does not exist.
I long for the simple calm of the inside of a church and the serenity of doubtless atheism.
I long for music, big music, loud music, and people who can dance without shame or self-consciousness.
I long for life to be easy and I long to be enough for its trials.
I long to have someone, but I don’t know who or where he is.
I have nostalgia for things that never happened to me, for things that happened before I was born and for things that happened to my neighbours and things that theoretically should have happened to everyone but realistically happened to no one (That first perfect kiss at age fifteen, with your high school sweet heart? You were leaning against the hood of his car and he smelled like home, and your hair was falling just so around your shoulders and you’d spent a long time on your outfit but you knew that you looked good and the way he stared at you made you feel like you could fly? No, that’s a Taylor Swift song! But she’s not even the worst, then there’s Bryan Adams with his potent brand of sickly sweet cover of a summer read dream haze romance, and oh I fall for all of it.) and I have pop cultural nostalgia, for Tamagotchis and Full House and the first version of the Sims (Even though I didn’t watch Full House! And my mother of the softest cheeks never bought me so much as one Dunkaroo!) and on top of all this I sometimes find myself being nostalgic for the things that are happening right now, because in my mind I see them through the coat of nostalgia with which they will surely one day be varnished, and it all adds up to longing because that is what nostalgia is, a particular, pretty kind of aching desire.
How do I live with all of this longing?
With manic glee, by being a caricature of myself, and with quiet pain, at times a shadow of myself.