Nostalgia, sometime, is an indescribable feeling.
I can’t remember the last time my heart waved like this since I got lost in my own world with rotations of many overlapped number eights: going this way, then crossing another road and finding myself winding back to the old path at last. Just like a dog chasing its tail, finally I found myself bewildered standing alone on a deserted mountains when suddenly woke up.
I know missing the past is to sort of missing a part of myself. I miss exactly my ego on that passed ambiences with old people and emotions that made I become. Sometimes leaning back on the sofa by myself, eyes over the window catching red and blue lights on the roof of the office building on the other side of the street, I recalled many moments of shames, confusions, agitations, pummeling, loving or full of joys. Then realized those would never come back again, or what I think that would repeated never happened exactly like the old one again. They just left my life out of a clear blue sky and all what’s left were memories. And one morning woken up in the middle of nowhere from the April dream, I were not me. Anymore.
As the rest of the world was still moving on while I were on that couch falling apart, I won’t forget but keep those old things in memory to remind me of who I used to be. Then be back on the road. Nostalgia can take a part of my life but my vision lives on eternally. Just leave the past in the past.