Sweet, sweet haze, oh how you seduce me. What are you made of? Eggs, flour and nostalgia. I import my nostalgia mostly from adolescence, a distant land that I remember as carefree, sweet-smelling and filled with hormones that had very vivid imaginations.
My memories from youth are a fusion of invention and reality. They are memories of potential, of what may be possible. My career? Maybe I really can be a triple threat. That boy? Maybe he imagines making out with me too. That trip? Maybe accumulating my driver’s permit miles on a road trip from California to Nebraska will be a poetic metaphor rather than a straight-ahead surge on Interstate 80.
It was after childhood, when everything was emotion, meals and baths.
It was before college, when I lived as though life was a film, a means through which to collect of out-of-body experiences that would make for good stories later.
Adolescence was a sweet time. To like five boys at once and imagine what it would be like to kiss each one. That one in a cabin, that one at the beach, that one at the movies… Imagining was preferable to trying the real thing. That way the memory of wanting lives on, remembered in a sweet haze.
Inspired by The Daily Post.