credit: demi cambridge
Showing posts with label nostalgia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nostalgia. Show all posts
chasing ghosts.
by kimberley veart
Woody
Allen and I share a malady, and I'm not sure how I feel about that.
We both
are sufferers of the condition of 'nostalgia' and long for our spiritual homes
in our idealised, rose hued visions of past decades. He wishes for the
twenties, the 'golden age', when apparently walking in the rain in Paris was
common practice.
I long
for the sixties. For the time when Mary Quant dresses were in, the Beatles and
their bowl cuts reigned and Edie Sedgewick was still Andy Warhol's muse.
somebody that i used to know.
by kimberley veart
We used to fit so well, it was all so comfortable.
We wore each other out, I suppose. Mended and patched until we matched.
You were like the trusty sweater I could reach for when the days turned cold. I knew (well, I thought) you would always protect me and brighten me up as the world grew grey.
We used to fit so well, it was all so comfortable.
We wore each other out, I suppose. Mended and patched until we matched.
You were like the trusty sweater I could reach for when the days turned cold. I knew (well, I thought) you would always protect me and brighten me up as the world grew grey.
the way we were.
by kimberley veart
You can
feel distance in the delays on a telephone call. In the resounding, echoing
quiet. If you count the seconds you can count the miles.
To fill
the void, you talk and I talk. We are drowning each other out, words descending
into white noise.
We are
forced to abandon this futile attempt at communication.
"Can
you hear me?"
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