Nostalgia...

People always confuse the feelings of nostalgia and longing, they think they are the same thing.

Nostalgia hurts more than longing, more than slamming the door on your fingers, more than kidney cramps.

Nostalgia is like the end of the day: the only way out is to conform, it's gone.

We bear longing, restlessly, and then we heal.

We feel longing when we get on a bus to leave.

I miss the loved one who remains, but I know I will see them again.

Nostalgia is when after a few years, you remember that moment, which sometimes even repeats itself, but it's not the same thing...

Longing is when the loved one left, but the love still remained.

Nostalgia is when love is also gone...

We feel homesick when we leave our parents at home and go live alone, in any corner of the world. Nostalgia is when we remember when they played ball or played with dolls with us...

Homesickness is a bit like hunger. It only passes when presence is eaten.

So, nostalgia is when all the food has stopped...

Whenever I talk about nostalgia I remember things from my life.

From what I learned, from everything I went through,

but I also get to the point where I'm listening to a song.

One word, one expression, and it gives that warmth in the heart.

Pain in the wrists, a tightness, which is always delicious.

Even when we remember something that wasn't very good.

We miss the things and people that passed through our lives

But deep down, they will stay with us forever...

And, deep down, they know they're going... and we stay with them too

a brother, a friend, a cousin, a place, a smell...

Maybe talking about nostalgia is just that, an attempt to make it all come back to life!

And they come back to life... as intensely as before!

Homesickness may be looking back without going back but understanding everything.

Like labyrinths of the mind. In the empty spaces of the subsequent territories I dive, I get lost.

And the more I lose myself, the more I find myself free. In the vertigo of the infinity of new known worlds, amnesia frees me from past prejudices.

Memory is paralysis. I cast my anchor to the wind, with no starting or ending point.

Clandestine, passenger, my story is the present.

I know that on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, perhaps 30 years from now, I will miss these silent walls that have watched me fall asleep for years. I'm not lying when I say that I will complain about the lack of the scent of the sheets that now cover me, washed by my mother's hands, as well as the pillow that has been made from a silk scarf for so long, in moments when tears cannot be contained and they fall like storms at the end of a hot day.

I am not able to describe what awakened such a desire to understand my daily life, perhaps deep down, I even unconsciously know it, but I dare say that there is a great chance that the cause of this gentle and loving look at what surrounds me, at everything that is within my reach, is intrinsically related to time, because lately I have been thinking a lot about it.

Alone I am a light breeze, I'm calm, I'm nostalgic.

Take me, Undress me, Makes me tremble in your arms, i am storm and turbulent sea, I am fury but now it's too late.

Together we are earthquake, we are a Seaquake, e are an erupting volcano.