nostalgia
Jacob Friesenhahn

She loves me
for who I was
for what I was
for her
 
she wishes I could be
that man again somehow
a dusty fantasy
we both know
won’t come true
 
But I was there
standing in the center
with the unmistakable
swagger of youth
when her world
was still enchanted
when we were young
enough to know secrets
 
Her love for me
has turned almost
maternal
her love for me
is less love
than a form
of forgiveness
 
and for that
I love her more
than I ever did
back then