I’ve been made nostalgic and my stitches are binding threads of longing, my breath is ridden subtly by bitter-sweet melancholia and even when I laugh, sometimes, my eyes hold a distant sadness.
Unlike many, my happy place is a memory. An illusion of laughter and smiles igniting on the faces that I loved, the moments made special, alone and together.
I noticed they define my taste, my favourite things and colors, the music that I hear, the books I read, the movies that I pick, the food that I eat, the leaders that I choose to follow for a while… how I view life through the glass of my window.
You define me.
You influence my choices with the flavour of reminiscence.
You reflect through me immortal when I favour a scent over another.
You are the difference between meaningless and meaning.
And although I find you, I find you… I find you…
You are the face that my dreams are missing.
And there’s such a tragedy in beauty when it withers in a grave.
Being in love with life and the infatuated emphasis of idealisms, the utopian ladder to success when we felt relevant enough to make a worldwide change and we could see it so crisply stretching in our future. When hope trampled every helpless feeling.
When we were tall and bigger, with youth and bloated self-importance burning on the hot-plates of our passions till we blistered with so much drive we had to move.
A future that is dimly figured.
My wistful thinking.
Believing even in some crazy metaphysics or the mystifying mystery that twists the end of our definitives with chance and a subtle perhaps.
The magic of cheating reason by closing your eyes to feel something that’s not there.
To feel you scattered everywhere and nowhere to be seen.
The sound your laughter made when we were talking about life and our human contradictions while we studied psychology in the kitchen of your house.
Your hand on my hand through the glass of my window when I play pretends its there like you taught me in our graduation summer when you felt like building moments out of nothing.
Your hand on my hand and no longer find it.