Nostalgia
Sweet little lies, that the old days were better, that the past was simpler, that our lives were not a constant chaos. I walk on a mist-lit night. The light from the lamps is dimmed by the haze as do my thoughts. I think of those happy days, they look so far away and somehow so clear. I wonder, were they really? The past has a certain magic that sometimes dresses it in an elegant cortex of false truths and empty happiness. The crying of the sky is suspended. I am awake but I feel in a constant lethargy. Everything around me moves and I am here, painted in a reality of which I am part and apart. We are simple creatures that because of our reasoning become complicated. We devour time, resources, life. Nothing satisfies our universe-like desires. The past grows cold, the present weighs on us and the future overwhelms us. I see the mist defying the laws that bind me. Melancholy melts over me like soaked sugar-cotton. Imaginary rainbows in the star-like lights of the streets slowly fade away and a colorless sight is beheld by my soul. Alone, I find myself in the path that many feet crossed. They were perhaps going with a pace synchronized to their heartbeat, or perhaps to the speed of their companion. Nights like these give me a bittersweet taste. Sweet nothing accompanied by nostalgia.
The Junction Journal 