The Best Conversationalist

I am so obsessed with the past. I'm enthralled in it, exalt it, the past is in my every thought, dream, word. I hold its stillness in my hands, I soak it into my pores and live it, feeling it pulse and flow through my veins. Then I squeeze it, both hands, my craving, its fragility, white knuckles, I grab and clench until it comes squeezing out each side and between each finger. This is beyond relishing, this is beyond anything is the actual moment, replaced by memory so completely. I can control my thoughts, I can relay the parts I want to. Every person and each event is not so much playing a part developing my future, but engaging all that was before. I do not feel the present, it does not interest me. I dressed up my previous happenings to be my beautiful, spectacular, flawless everything. I remember it how I want to, and I want to. I feel it in my veins, in my dreams, it's passion, love and happiness, I breathe in, all I could ever want.