The years all conspire,
Memories crouch like muggers.
Nostalgia's cudgel.
Is it having been here so long? Is it the decision to leave? Is it the not drinking? I don't know, but lately, as the reel of the last ten years plays endlessly in my head, I have often found myself getting quite moist-eyed.
Maybe it's regret and resentment and a sense of waste....
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