epitaph for nostalgia

Igrow sadwhen reminiscingof the environment in which the child i was once grew. The memories cannot be reconciled with the present, now a scarred picture pock-marked by the inanimate relics of a bygone era. A time I knew. Desolations ruinoustouchhas knownno bounds.Corrupting even theconsciousenergythat intrinsically links people to people andplace. The colourful meadowsnowstained a deathly, dirty orange hue. Oh how my fickle heart sinks when my wandering mind thinks of the things that made me happy. "The Island" of which Iso often triedtoframe ina mental image for you, when resting in our shared embrace; & you. Gone. Better off forgotten.