I spend time thinking about the world I left behind when I boarded my flight from Heathrow in December. a lot of the time it feels as though I’m reflecting on a story I’ve read, rather than one that happened to me, rather than a period of rich emotions and experiences that I lived. despite forming my reality for a significant period of time, my adventure and the characters I had the fortune of meeting along the way seem far from me. this makes sense, considering the physical distance and increasing time between myself and these people and places and precious memories that meant so much to me.
I haven’t cried about this for a very long time, though I still dream of Lewes and the world away from home, and of course the people. I cherish the photos through which I am able to revisit memories, many of which I forget existed until seeing a smile or view or article of clothing pictured on somebody I hugged, whom I still hold close in my mind and heart, despite the greediness of time - who continues to take.
a lack of direction and drive. willpower is foreign to me right now. but I remind myself the legitimacy of my feelings and the need to allow my nostalgia for the world that was. thinking of the past brings me joy right now, which I cannot take for granted. << x
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