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Nostalgic Nights.
The smell of gas in the vintage moped I drove an hour to buy, 
Driving down that small-town street at night,
Lit by the dim bike light on that streetlight-less street.
Mixing gas with oil and lighting puddles afire. 
It was light in the dark and it was a dark time. 

My Youthfulness. 
That time I sat on a sand sculpture and ruined it;
My first memory of guilt.
Basketball practice at the rec. center, the vending machines.
Pokemon VHS tapes, stuffed animals and sleepovers, 
When mom took me to class, and bingo for books,
And the Library with Mom and Mimi and Justin, Mike, Julia...Sean.
And when she chaperoned my field trip and paid for my friend
At the gift shop even though she couldn't afford to.

When we would wake up before mom and dad and watch TV 
Until we heard the liquid clink and aromatic smell of coffee brewing, 
And that time we watched The Sixth Sense in the living room as a family.
When I first started writing stories,
And we would go sledding in our front yard.
Ms. Philips three houses down, 
And how I could hear dad yelling at the football game from there;
And that time I woke up on Christmas Eve before presents went out,
And sat with Dad and Mom and they let me watch TV 
And have a candy cane from the tree even though it was getting late.

Which reminds me of all the times we put milk and cookies out, 
And watched the Wizard of Oz,
And mom made chicken wings for christmas and baptisms and first communions.
And when we would go swimming in Papas pool and he would take us for walks, 
And walks in St Patricks Cemetery,
I even remember when the first iPhone came out, because Papa has his
And we were walking in the cemetery.
It reminds me of all those times the family went apple picking 
And got apple cider doughnuts, and we stuffed mums
purse with apples even though we had more than we needed.

Berkley.
The small town I remember memories in;
The way family used to be, before the divorce.
Building teepees in the woods in the backyard,

Nerf wars across the neighborhood,
And digging a massive hole in the neighbors yard,
The farm and the circle of friends among it, 
How six years ago I didn't know them, 
And how I work for them ever day now.

More memories.
How stupid I acted in school, even though I knew I'd regret it,
Skipping school for thrift-shopping and going out for breakfast,
Holidays with the family and visiting great grandma,
Which oddly reminds me of the cottage

[shortened version--cant fit any more ;(]
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