A cold metallic face stares blankly at me for the thousandth time.

Shocks of nostalgia reflect from the polished silver and gold.

To bring it back to life would be a crime.

Palmed solidly in my scarred hands bitter-sweet memories unfold.

Cracks in the windows welcome the crisp autumn breeze.

The draft's bitterness cuts through skin to spine.

Like clock hands no longer ticking I freeze.

I reflect on a distant day when I wasn't just fine.

The sun dances on a familiar face.

Gold glimmers from a wrist before it intercepts an exhale of smoke.

The fiery oaky-caramel combination of cigarettes and coffee scent the space.

On summer days, long car rides and tears I choke.