I wear nostalgia like my nursery blanket, reminiscing of nothing I've ever known. The pangs lonely in my stomach, butterflies having migrated to the south or east, gossamer wings merely a breath released from a teardrop. Content washes over skin, like the salt-kissed waves of the ocean I long to hide. The striped jumper, like a tiger- lips, serpentine coils over which I find myself stumbling. Today is a green tea day & I save my cup for tomorrow, no lone dregs nor broken crystals of sugar.