pin board

My room is cramped with places that feel so close I could touch them

But if I could, would I?

Will that American dream pavement still feel the same as it did over a decade ago?

That 6am resort bus stop, that ride queue, will it still smell the same?

The pins on the cork board facing my bed stare at me as I go about my day

And every now and then I will look at them and waterboard myself with memories.

I'll see my mother with a haircut I only see in pictures

My father with the same Calvin Klein shirts he wears now.

I try to grasp what’s left of that time by feverishly researching times long passed;

Selfishly spending hours rotting in bed watching and rewatching documentaries,

Buying engineer-written books, browsing fan blogs, scouring ebay for vintage merchandise.

I try to grasp what’s left of that time, and when I finally learn to let go

It will surely only escape covered with deep bleeding claw marks.

the reminders prick me like the back of those pins,

That everything will change just like it has before

That i'll never be the person that got those pins on that board on my wall again