So much for nostalgia

This stoy keeps writing
Itself, pages and chapters of
You and i, of things that i
Wish would have happened, of
Things that i wish you would
Say, then you whispered to me
Said i missed you, as i
Silently basked in your
Words, these eight letters
That keep me from growing,
Out and away from you

We still return to the
Seasons where these corners
And cracks of this street are
Still leading me home

This tongue just keeps tying
Itself, unspoken words from
The mouth of a bottle of
Things that i wish i could
Tell you, of things that you
Can't understand, and we
Still return to the life
Where these...

I keep running back in your
Direction, to these beaches
And swings that we know, it's
As empty as when we had left
It, still writing these
Letters to you

The truth behing story
Incredible glories of you and
What my mind has made you,
The life bearing pictures
These porches these splinters
And summers that are making
Me whole

Still i fly high and away
From these dreams
Still i fly high and away from these things