Why must these tortured memories come?
Making us long for things long gone-
the scent of lilacs in the spring
the notes played on grandma's piano
pounded out by small hands-
accompanied by the complaints of a grouchy uncle,
old by nineteen
or poured sweetly out by hands long gone
Christmas Carols occasionally,
rarely though you'd beg her often to play
She was much to busy for such frivolity
You never knew the work she did

And the days when you longed to grow up
to be what you would be
the future seemed a promise
of better things, which you did not want to wait for
you really didn't think
that you knew it all
and didn't understand
when they accused you of it

And friends you always thought
You would always see
Never knowing that one would go
in a car accident, stormy weather
or that one would get shot to death
at a party full of stoners
that one would get knocked up,
and your mother would forbid you to talk to her
Or maybe you
would be the outcast

But all of this
was back before then
when everything was perfect
and everything was terrible
You're skin was a mess
You're voice didn't work
You're body didn't seem to fit
You hated everything
And everyone seemed to hate you

Why must everything look
so much better from a distance?
Why must the bitter be so sweet?
Why must roses fade, and grandmas leave
and penny candy disappear into the past?
Why must we long for days
When things seemed simpler-
'Tho those days were but a trial
And full of complications of our own making
And spend our life rushing forward,
and gazing back?

The paper's faded
the words are gone
It's no use trying to touch
what seems so clear
will crumble beneath a too eager finger
Time is running-
Will you run too?

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