Tragic Nostalgia Poem by Joshua Mccoy

These memories flow into my head like a broken dam trying to hold back a sudden surge of violent waves. As persistent as they are, they no longer fit among the world of today.
Abandoned, forgotten and obsolete in everyway.

Time spent conversing and playing with best friends at two separate house across from each other in a war of who deserved me more as a friend and who make a better girlfriend fade in black and white shades in my mind. Golden times of perfection. Untouched by the drifting effect of now and more exclusive friends. The end came as quick as the passing of grades, one right after another, and changes in seasons;
From the glorious summer of firework fights with black cats,
To the autumns of rushing home to catch never before Mega Man series then street backgammon on a busy road of no cars in our own little cul-de-sac,
To the shivering nights of fresh fallen snow in a world painted white as I teach my little sister how to make snow angels and I make a constant supply of yellow snow cones for her younger friends who won’t leave me to my brand new game cube. As old as I am, my friends ranged from 3 to 10 years younger than me. Always.
To the morning lazy haze of spring where my attempts to when the heart of my very first intellectual equal were spent on her front porch over intense games of speed and witty remarks about my other supposed love interest across the street.
Throughout the years of childish laughter untainted by Realism
Real world worries
Torn friendships by long distance
And
Growing up
Existed the common place of our joy and source of broken bones:
The Trampoline
Preserved all childhood memories in blood

In a flutter as I pass by the neighborhood all at once, memories appear:
My first kiss hidden under the trampoline.
Losing a life to a car that was deeply dear to me and being told a lie.
Home run in the hallway of an apartment quadplex.
Standing outside in my underwear as three full school buses pass by while firefighters fight our house.
Spending my entire 1st seventh grade year in the damp catacombs of I.S.S. for an armed street fight in the cafeteria.
Using friends as an excuse for failing and becoming a dark outsider.
Becoming a saved sophomore warrior of light and acceptance.

We are not as we use to be.
To some degree, we all wish to relive certain rich aspects of our childhood
And shy away from the world of now
But you can only cross the passage of time once
Pushed forward
Never backwards
These thoughts of a long lost time have no place here.
Every place, everyone, everything has aged with time.
Nostalgia bites at shadows that no longer exists.