Currently listening to: Twenty One – The Cranberries
I don’t think it’s going to happen anymoreYou took my thoughts from me, now I want nothing moreAnd did you think you could just take it all awayI don’t think it’s happening, this is what I say
Someone on Reddit said, “nostalgia is a crazy drug.” And TBH, I felt that.
It’s wild how a random scent, a song, or even a phrase can take me back instantly. Not just a memory, but a full-body experience. I close my eyes, and it doesn’t feel like something that happened. It feels like something that’s happening—right now.
I can replay certain moments so vividly it’s like time folded in on itself. I remember how the air felt, how the light hit the room, how my heart raced a little when our hands brushed. The way our fingertips always seemed to find each other like magnets, even in silence. The softness in a whisper that wasn’t meant to be heard by anyone else. The stillness of the world in those tiny, suspended moments.
It’s intoxicating, how the past can wrap around me like a blanket I didn’t know I missed. And sometimes, I almost convince myself that I could crawl back into it, as if it were waiting for me. It’s kind of like when I get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom—moving quietly, half-asleep, trying not to turn on any lights or fully wake myself up. I know if I do it just right, I can slip back into bed and drift off again like I never left. But that’s nostalgia’s trick: it blurs the line between memory and reality.
Yeah. It’s one hell of a drug.
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