Nostalgia

The feeling you get when you hear a song you looped when you were going through a separation. The feeling you get when you walk through the area you guys use to stroll, and your heart recognizes things you see before your brain does. The feeling you get when you explore china town, and you deceivingly catch a fleeting whiff of your mom’s cooking. That’s memory climbing back, wave by wave, from the depths of your mind, previously hunkered beneath the sordid bed of sorrows. The whitewater first tickles your toes, fiddling each integer like piano keys. If you remained still—gripped by will or compulsion, either way— the water will advance slowly, submerging more of the feet that carried you to new places, new people, new feelings. Chills or warmth will be electrified up your body, depending on the temperature of the ocean. Don’t stand still for too long, for memory respects no boundaries. It doesn’t care if you’re wearing that new jacket you bought using your first paycheck, or if your hair is combed over with gel ready to impress that date; it will drench you with a heavy coat of reminiscence, a coat that no sun or heat can dry. And as the waves inevitably recede into the abyss through the riptide, in the chance that you are still able to see clearly, pay attention to the writings left on the beach. That would be smart.