NOSTALGIA: a narrated story with a glass of wine

I narrated a story

With a glass of wine.

Slightly intoxicated, Inebriated,

Stupefied. 

I sat in the backseat of my car

And in it followed the moon for miles.

Miles at a stretch, in truth. 

I created a masterpiece

using just stick figures

I put random colours everywhere.

Everywhere at once, in truth. 

I stood on the railing of my balcony 

during the first shower and laughed

Laughed like never before, in truth. 

I fell ill and got a scolding from mother

so in my room

I played dress up with my dolls

My dolls, like myself,

looked worn out in truth. 

I wore a raincoat the next day,

and fussed about wanting an umbrella instead

A fuss for mere fun, in truth. 

I took the bus to my school later

And dropped a few crumbs 

on the last bench in class

A class that smelt like happiness, in truth. 

I looked at the tube light 

through my plastic ruler 

and marvelled at the rainbow formed.

The rainbow was distorted, in truth. 

I snuggled with all my soft toys at night

so that no one felt ignored.

Ignorance hurts, I of all knew it; in truth. 

I loved myself, 

and not just for the sake of poetry 

I felt happier than ever

I had forgotten what it felt like, in truth 

And then the claps echoed round the room

I wished they'd stop, in truth

I loathed the truth. 

That this was but a mere tale and fable. 

A mere story, written by nostalgia.

A mere story, the bestseller of my existence.

.