Five minutes

Sometimes I am 24 and standing in the kitchen of my apartment making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to my heart. I am just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up my mails. And also more exciting things like books I am reading and trips I plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from my memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly I just don’t feel at home in my skin or in my apartment and I just want home but a trip to India will not be of much help either. There used to be the comfort of a number in my phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm myself down when I started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person I are feel foreign. When I realize that I’ll never be this young again but this is the first time I’ve ever been this old. When I can’t remember how I got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to me now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. I breathing in and out. I feel fine again in about five minutes.


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