There’s something about passing time

and nostalgia

and bittersweet memories barely remembered;

the snippets of time haphazardly stapled together as the wallpaper of my heart - some spots still bleeding, others long scabbed over.

There’s something about passing time

that tastes sweetly at first.

Fresh and new, like it was just yesterday when I heard you calling my name.

And then it begins to sour when I realize, the last time I heard your voice was not days, but years ago.