Twelve

The nostalgia comes in waves. Less and less frequently as time goes on, but still they come. I will pass a stranger, that smells like you- or hear a song we used to listen to, or a friend will make that same joke you would and I feel everything, all at once. The wave takes my entire body, rocks through it with the force of the memories and love and adoration and heartbreak. And then it is gone. Time is so constant; it is almost abrasive. It carries us forward, whether we want to go or not. But the subconscious memories of our deepest feelings- those have the power to take us back- if only for a moment. They are the photographs and keepsakes of our lives; a rumpled postcard from the past saying “wish you were here”. And for a moment, and only for a moment, I wish I was too.

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