(n.) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost; “the love that remains”
Have you ever stumbled across a certain kind of love, a brush of delight and the stealth of the moment, when betrayal of that one moment seeming eternity reconciles you with what seemed to be lost before? Have you ever found yourself longing to feel that feeling which you can’t put a finger on but know it by your core?
I had once held a book so beautiful in its words and being, in a tiny library lit with dim bulbs and the only melody that played was the irregular shuffling of his socked feet and flitting pages. Even the occasional dust I brushed off from other books seemed like home. And to look above and witness the scintillating particles in the peeking sun rays beheld belonging. The love I felt towards my company in that moment, his shuffling feet attributed to our ethereal connection; Laurie Lawrence with all his mustered enthusiasm awaits with me in the library, with the story as The Little Women arrived…
I would always long for the wait with Laurie, in the dimly lit wooden library.
Just a while back, the world had conspired to place me in a grand hall; buzzing with a thousand voices but me eyes only sought the speaker who sang out to my soul. It was enlightening to know a voice so eloquent, crafted with such truth even hope, that it spoke about seemed legitimate. Could such a belonging voice hold the enormity of my reflecting existence, were such miracles possible?
There is laughter that pours out ethereal moments, then there are certain songs that behold them; ‘Not Today’ by Imagine Dragons had me at its first play of melody, one could almost imagine herself drifting over sands, dressed in white and fluttering with the wind all by herself. This abstraction, I hope you don’t find it too vague, even if you do; it’s got a certain charm to it. ‘Oblivion’ with its lyrics of astounding depth gave me a place to site my love in.
“Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never were, but without it we go nowhere.”
― Carl Sagan
Have you ever made up scenes in your mind, like combusting into the brightest flame? Or feel the foamy waves seeping between your toes? An unknown place, cream walls of a beautiful house stocked with walls of novels, and an unbearably beautiful human living your existence, a melody so excruciatingly melodious that you can’t remember it…
Does nostalgia cloak you every time you enter The Great Hall of Hogwarts and soar through the Quidditch pitch? Does a classic novel make you feel that you were born in the wrong era?
SPONSORED : Doodle book we use at Lutalica.