For the longest time, coming across the words “nostalgic for a place you’ve never been to” was a joke that I’d laugh my heart out at. The whole notion was ridiculous to me, how could one pine for a place they’ve never been to, yearn for something they’ve never experienced?
But as they say, with time comes wisdom and now, I know.
I know that it is possible and that this itching in my soul, this discomfort, these incessant, erratic fights that my heart puts up, these are all nothing but a calling, a remembrance of a place I don’t even know, of arms I am not sure exist, but on long cold nights like this, I am reminded of desperately, and my sadness finds a way to condense and drip from my lashes as I sit on the roof, drowning in my agony, unable to decide what to make of this, the tragic belief that somewhere out there exists a person, the antidote to my misery, only I am unaware of when we shall ever cross paths, if we ever do, if we ever have.
Image taken from here.