Nostalgia Kills

Looking back on words I wrote in the past confirms thoughts I currently think. Since I can remember I’ve wanted to be a traveller. I never wanted to stay in one place, I never wanted to be one “thing”.

A lover, a fighter, a philosopher, a doer, these are who I am. A dreamer, a leader, a soloist with support, these are who I am.

To live with passion, to constantly pursue, but never chase. To progress forward, but avoid over-doing it. To continue peeling away the layers of what I’ve been taught or told to reveal the truth that resides inside this body, this fragile mind. These are my desires.

The visions I have are not romanticized. The plans in my brain were formed decades ago in the carnal furnace of my youth, forged from every adventure I read, from every trip I took, every second chance I survived.

Nostalgia is a powerful drug and I feel the pull of distant memories, lulling me to complacently thumb through old notebooks instead of pressing forward or staying present. I hate to remember because the day has passed.

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