And suddenly, I’m trapped between missing it and knowing I can never go back. 😔

Sometimes I think nostalgia is a trick. 🌀 It makes the past look softer, warmer, like it was perfect, when really… it was messy, awkward, and full of mistakes. So why does my heart ache for it like it’s gold? Maybe it’s because remembering makes me feel alive in a way the present rarely does.

And yet, there’s a danger in living in the past. 💭 I catch myself comparing today to those memories, wondering why nothing feels as vibrant, as real. Why does reality feel so dull in comparison to the edited highlight reel in my mind? It’s exhausting, but I can’t seem to stop scrolling through my own memories.

Maybe that’s the thing about memory: it’s both cruel and comforting. ✨ It reminds me of what I’ve lost, but also of who I am, who I’ve been, and the strange, persistent hope that what I crave can still exist—in some form, somewhere.

But then I have to ask myself: am I longing for the past, or am I longing for the version of me that existed back then? 🤷‍♀️