In english we pried metaphors out of randomly chosen words. our teacher told us we were finding meaning in luck. i told him it felt more like bullshitting.
Nostalgia is the ice cream truck.
Just as we ache for the moments of our pasts, we long for an ice cream sandwich, a popsicle, or that frosty drumstick. In these dreary times, empty of excitement or experience, the only cure is indulgence in memories, which naturally leads only to unfulfilled pining and a realization that we are stuck in this unsatisfying present. In the same way, we crave cold delicacies on sweltering days or when feeling blue. And just as time fails to stop for us, refuses to reverse back to give us what we wish for, the ice cream truck often passes us by, taunting us with the idea and the knowledge that those treats exist, just out of reach. We hear the familiar jingle coming down the street, singing the melody of our hunger, our wistful yearning. But as the clock hands make their way through time, so does the ice cream truck through the town, and we are once again denied our dessert, left standing on our front lawns of the present, looking backwards down the street towards better times and the ice cream that’s not ours.
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