Poem about the fear of nostalgia

As I stand in the empty street lined with shops I have sparsely entered despite my familiarity, I look up to see the moonlight drowned out by the sparkling glow from the streetlights. I turn my attention back to the street, bathing in sickly sweet nostalgia, content in swimming in the memories of my youth, but as they grew newer, closer to myself, swimming became struggling, drowning in viscous molasses as it grows hot from my body and hardens. My chest aches as it often does, and death reminds me. An old friend who I’ve met more times than most my age, always waiting just around the corner to visit again.