Sides Of Nostalgia

Nostalgia of dark nights and warm days seem to awaken a long lasting feeling of closeness or despair. For the first time, I don’t feel the fire when I remember those moments, the good and the bad. I don’t have the urge to brutally hurt the man who slaughtered me. I am a demonic creation of a whirlwind of emotions and sadness, the aftermath of what is called depression and a one sided love story. I know I am capable of destruction, I am aware that the hurricane going on inside my soul is a disaster that would destroy all that comes close. I am the blaze that can ignite into a fire with the simplest of motion. I am the backstory to words written on masks hung on the wall. I am the hidden truth behind a laugh and generous gestures. I am the silhouette of a play portrayed in the day light while the story is a much haunting, darker version to be endured . I am speechless to express which part that my body is shaking for now, the part that leaves me breathless with tears streaming down my face. Is it the part where I am missing those memories? Or when I was used to be in the broad daylight displayed with the actors on stage? The part where I was dying slowly, while they were watching me? The rage I endured interlaced with dejection expressed on the walls of my palace is unexplainable. I remain curious to understand what happened, wandering if I will ever speak to them or see them again? Will our emotions get reflected in our eyes or they will cover it up this time?