I want to back. Please. Take me back. Take me back take me back. This music, it grabs me and I've barely listened to it.
I want to be in the car, warm and happy, sleepy. Sunsets and fog over the bridge, dark yellow lights streaming past my face as we speed down the curving highway hill to San Francisco. The silhouette of the city against a rippling painting-like water. A warm cheek against a fuzzy car seat. It was silent, yet so loud. Sleepy but very much awake.
Take me back.
A sparkly shirt, a homemade popsicle. A hot afternoon, bright yet dark at the same time. I camera, over-sized sunglasses and sticky smiles. Not a care in the world. Red toenails on hot cement, water, screams of laughter and a big, rough towel over my arms. Soggy sandwiches.
Take me back.
San Francisco. Cold, yet so warming. Everything about it. Everything. Nights at the condo, bright lights from office buildings against a dark sky. Cars honking loudly, beeps and yells, toned down to a calming blur. Sparkling lights on a bridge. A big bed, thick pillows, comfort. Grassy mornings, toys and friends, a cold wind, a candy from a stranger I wouldn't eat.
Please, I would die for it. I dream about it every night. I dream about all of it. Please, I would kill myself to go back. I want to go there. I only feel that. Nostalgia is the only thing I cry about. I don't care about anything else at all. This is the only thing I live for. I live to make more nostalgia. When I die, I can relive it and cry my soul out. Please please. You will never know how it feels. It's more than just a dream.