Coy Nostalgia

Dusk has past. The sun is gone. Pale light illuminates the clouds as though the waning sun still loitered by the horizon, but it is only the reflection of the iridescent city below. Light pollution, a facade of beauty concealing filth with its plaster-thick foundation. The good days are gone but not lost. The taste of years gone by linger, but only in the pit of your mouth while the flavors of modern society rigorously flood your taste buds, overpowering mild reminiscence. Lamentation has passed, the chameleon loses it's luster, but the caffeinated beverage alters a weary gaze and turns it bright. Genetically identical, psychologically diversified, acceptance will never be a universal language.