I caught myself coming back
to the lyrics of an old song,
to the colors of old photographs,
to the pages old journals,
to the every little old thing.
and to the old us.
Because memories are also place.
They are places wrapped in a beat,
in an album, in a poetry, and in someone’s heart.
And at one point in my life,
our memories once became my favorite
place I kept coming back to. Flashback after Flashback, it all felt nostalgic.
And at the same time
I felt that beautiful pain
you left behind.
(pictures from pinterest )
“Hi, I miss you “
That’s fine. You’ll miss a lot of things in life. But do you miss me as a habit or do you miss the feeling you had when you had me, the feeling of emptiness- not because you’re habituated by me and accustomed to my preferences but because my presence ignited a spark in you and your body and now that I am gone that spark just won’t find its way back to you anymore. You think calling me a habit is sweet? Think again.
So do you miss me like you missed lighting your cigarette each day, every day when you were learning to quit until you didn’t anymore and realised you were better off without it? You think I was a habit? Smoking was a habit.I am an experience. So the next time you miss me, make sure you miss a myriad of things like my voice when I whispered sweet nothings in your ear till your hormones danced to the beat of my hushed voice.
The next time you miss me you might want to miss the parts of you that only my presence could bring to life. The next time you miss me, don’t miss me because being around me is the only thing you knew and you can’t handle change.
So would you still miss me ???