Weathered arm outstretched.
He reaches out. His wrinkled hand holds, a desperate grasp, on the joyful age of youth. 

The vanity and the irony of his actions, he has no clue.

He wears his rose coloured glasses always; turning merry moments into quixotic memories of euphoria.

Slowly it slips away. The bitter old man seeks again for a link to yesterday. So Bittersweet.  

A lowly drug addict, he searches, looking for his high, his ecstasy; inevitably to fall, each time deeper into the pit of despair.

He spirals into an incurable depression, a nagging melancholy, the fault of his never moving on. 

He is stubborn, he is ignorant.

He is clueless, he is lost.  

He is nostalgia.


A Tangent On Love

Love isn’t like it is in the movies; as much as we wish it was. Disney lied when he said the spell could be broken only by true love’s kiss. Love, real love. Meaningful love. Love with grit and love with power, requires hard work; It requires acceptance also that nothing will be perfect. They won’t be perfect and that you won’t be perfect, and that there’s no need for perfection. Love is not something to look at through rose coloured glasses. If you want it to be right you have to accept from the start that it won’t be pretty. Once you have that clarity you can find the love that you so desire.