It’s Night

Lit Up — May’s Prompt: Nostalgia

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It’s night.
The usual nausea
wraps my throat.
I start to yearn for
the poets of an old time,
and ache for the wound
of an old love.

I don’t know why
I keep pulling
the strings of my heart.
It’s not an instrument
to play,
nor a coward
who’d run
that needs to be
bound.

It’s night.
Again, it’s cold,
again, it’s far.
Alone, I greet
each and every
star.
I try to mumble
a nostalgic song,
but I think I finally
forgot
the way you rhyme.