I am stuck in a kaleidoscope of faces
a slave to nostalgia
Through the filter everything looks like it was perfect
serene
peachy
hundreds of separate dreams playing at once
The feeling of falling in love over and over again
How many drunken nights
how many drunker smiles
how many times did I drown
What does it mean to change when our desires remain the same?
I am worshipping the past like a god
the scenes play themselves out with artful direction
the players and set pieces designed too well to be true
to be quite honest, I must be lying to myself
lying in one hundred different beds
in one hundred different cities
and
I always seem to remember
how hard it is to forget
Backseats, Vodka. 