August #22

This time of year comes,
and the season calls me back
to yellow school buses
and newspaper-wrapped textbooks,
to fond memories
of homecoming games
where the sun always shined
right on the crowd's face.
This time of year I am strongly and
constantly pulled
back to halls full of students,
a body that I knew and was a part of,
a community where I knew everyone by name,
and everyone knew me.
I remember favorite teachers,
hated teachers,
and would give my memories away
to have the reality.
But this nostalgia is just that -
memories,
whispered reminders,
and I must move forward,
enjoy each new fall
for what it is,
not what it has been.