when we were young and carefree
bold in our dreams
i remember
looking up at the sky
to see
mystery blinking in stars so distant
distant like the future
that became the now.
i look up at the sky
it's still "the same", still there. always was.
but i see it differently, the past wonder is lost.
the beauty has escaped me, my mind has gotten old. i cherish the memories
alive, still, to behold.
.
.
.
nostalgia is a magical feeling. the feeling of biased memory that remembers only the beauty of the unrecoverable past; the feeling of desire for the bygone times that feel like a dream, a different life, a treasure that's locked behind a fog. it feels like a cup of tea on a late October evening. it has the smell of the crisp winter air we breathed while playing in snow. carefree. dreamy. cozy. something that can never be recovered and new pieces keep being added
and no matter how many times we've been there, we never learn: this small, inconspicuous moment will become the gold of the past tomorrow... in a year... in a decade.
#12.8.23 (opublikowany 13.8.23)
CZYTASZ
heart beats
Poetry~ poezje itp ~ w gruncie rzeczy, jesteśmy worami mięsa, kości, i flaków. ale w tym worze mieści się mózg, a mózg to wciąż niezbadana złożoność, która z prostego wora potrafi uczynić święty graal. the heart beats/heartbeats/heartbeat: serce bije, ser...
