We drank a toast to time

What is it about nostalgia that both soothes and anguishes us? What is it about reunions that leave us feeling both delighted and depressed? Fits and starts, this new connection as it forms so slowly, ever so carefully. Perhaps it would be better to forget these two kids altogether, fumbling and clumsy, doing it all wrong all those years ago. Perhaps we should say "fuck reunions" and introduce ourselves to each other for the first time. After all, the alternative seems so bleak: picture us engaging in conversation together, expecting to slide back into it like a pair of worn-in boots, instead finding that our feet have outgrown them and our toes are painfully pinched. Imagine the awkwardly-averted eyes, cleared throats, crickets, as we are sipping anxiously at our drinks and reliving in our eloquence another "auld lang syne."