Nostalgia

I miss the woods where I grew up.
I miss the mountains, miss the trees.
I miss the ever-present, overwhelming
     sense of mystery.
I miss my friends from childhood
(even those who were mean to me).
I miss the way my heart would break
     every time a boy didn’t talk to me.

And I’ll never get it all back;
life goes on even when your soul is cracked
     in half.
 
I miss the wind over the lake.
I miss the sunburns, miss the rain.
I miss the utter certainty that I would
     never change my name.
I miss the grass beneath bare feet.
I miss playing the lava-game.
I miss a home where I belonged;
     since I left, nothing’s been the same.
 
And I’ll never get it all back;
life goes on even as the gods, they laugh.
And I’ll never reclaim those days;
innocence lost, imagination chained.

But if you keep holding my hand—
my love, my hunter, my king, my man—
I might just make it through;
even a perfect past can’t compare
     to a future with you.