Basement Nights

I miss when nights used to drip from the sky. When parties moved in slow motion and we drank with angst and expectation. Everything is so steady now–I’m restless. I want to go back to those rooms that smelled of perfume and smoke and experimentation. Drenching ourselves in mistakes and glitter and self-education. Now I know myself and my heart doesn’t race when the music speeds up. But God sometimes I wish it would. It’s great to be content and stable but sometimes I miss the Gatsby-like aroma of uncertainty.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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