When we walk in nostalgia, we are opening up memories like musty, almost forgotten love letters. We find dried flowers pressed between the pages of a book, their sweet scent all but gone, crumbling at the lightest touch, as if the vitality of the memory itself is gone from these reminders.
Those poignant memories that make you stop and breathe a little deeper. Recalling days past with a sigh and a bittersweet smile. The dull and distant ache of pain and regret floods us, and is just as consuming as the faded joy we feel, at memories of happiness. Both good and bad, happy and sad make tears prick at the backs of our eyes and our throats become tight with all the words it’s now too late for us to utter.