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NOSTALGIA

By Vera Von Monika

Raindrops fracture on empty streets,
each one a percussion of what we lost.
Smoke curls from alleys,
twisting in rhythms I cannot grasp,
vanishing before my hands can claim them.

Your voice trembles like a half-remembered chord,
shivering against the walls of my chest.
I reach, but the air resists,
a pulse suspended,
a tremor swallowed by the night.

Footsteps echo in fog-drenched corridors,
each one a question with no answer.
The city hums metallic and relentless,
a heartbeat that isn’t mine,
and I chase your ghost
through golden-lit veins
that never knew us.

Every glint of light is a blade,
every shadow a memory bleeding.
I fold the silence into my palms,
and it fractures into sparks,
ash raining into the spaces
we left unclaimed.

Your absence weighs like titanium,
anchoring me to moments that should have been.
I move through streets that hold your echo,
trains gliding like sighs beneath concrete arches,
lights flickering like your eyes
in corners I cannot reach.

Time bends,
splinters,
and stretches,
leaving me suspended in between,
a resonance of all that burned,
all that fractured,
all that refused to die quietly.

Even here, in the hollow of sound and glass,
I feel you…
not present,
not gone,
but vibrating through me,
a melody carved into the marrow,
a song no one else can hear.

Nostalgia… is not gentle.
It claws, it fractures,
it sets the veins on fire,
leaving only the sharp shape of absence,
etched into
every flicker of light,
every sigh,
every shadow.

And in that suspended space,
I trace you in memory,
knowing I will never hold you again,
but feeling the echo of your heartbeat
resonate through mine,
a ghost symphony
that refuses to fade
…in nostalgia

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