nostalgia. in untitled.

Nostalgia is a powerful drug. One that holds you and won’t let you go no matter what the present may hold. In the highs it reminds you of times filled with laughs and such joy that you pray the moment may never end. Hugs that felt just right, eye contact you never wanted to break, sun touching your face in the perfect way. In its lows it reminds you that those times are over never to be repeated in its exact ways, crippling you with the knowledge that the person in these idolized memories ceases to exist. You will never be that carefree, innocent, not yet burned by the fire of life’s hard truths. Maturity comes at a cost that you can’t seem to pay no matter how much you save.
You look at yourself in photos & long for a time where you wanted to capture moments of yourself. Moments, perfect in nature, that wouldn’t be quickly ruined by your mind’s own warped desire to look a certain way. An ailment that has left you with no tactical memories in order to save your own soul. To save a day ruined by a bad picture. To save hours spent thinking, “Do I really look like this? Is this how others see me?”. Words of affirmation from others only suffice as relief for so long.
You think of the friendships you once held. Friendships you were certain would last forever. Deep secrets & inside jokes linger as the ghosts of their past. Memories so sweet even if the truth was bitter. Things end for a reason. Yes, things end for a reason.
You see your home & crave the days you wanted to be there. The yearning you once felt to return to home with its familiar warm embrace. The avenues still undiscovered & the ones explored often. Recognized faces that sparked feelings of cheer rather than dread. Home being a place you wanted to be, not some place you were stuck.
Even the ache for days that sparked excitement. The days you attempted to fall asleep before to reach quicker. Ones unique and memorable in nature, good or bad, simply because you can remember them.
That’s what makes nostalgia’s hold so tight, so suffocating. The longing for what once was while the present unfolds before you. Only letting you escape for moments to absorb enough to dream of in the future. Memories only glazed with the remembrance of good times, never bad. A wheel that never ceases to turn. Time spent wasted trying to resurrect the past.
How I wish I could quit.