…to die of nostalgia for something you never lived.

Stormya whole made of halves

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“It’s a strange grief… to die of nostalgia for something you never lived.”
― Alessandro Baricco

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What is nostalgia?

What is it for you?

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Is it the other half of a whole… a fraction of a whole, which takes up more space than the rest…

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Is it a perfect day…

the sun was shining even if it was stormy, even if it was the darkest of night…

there was sun in your heart and it lit everything up in a glow which you will never forget… which still shines…

but do you remember it as it was or as…

it felt in that blissful moment when all was right in the world, in your world…

it feels now seen from a distance which has changed what it was because of where you are now…

you wish you’d enjoyed that moment rather than wasting it…

you wasted it… why… because it wasn’t as good as… but now it is… better than…

so you make amends in retrospect…

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“In front of him, nothing. He had a sudden glimpse of what he had considered invisible. The end of the world.”
― Alessandro Baricco

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Is it a perfect memory…

one which isn’t anything like what actually happened, but you like this version better…

time heals wounds sometimes by blurring the truth with pretty lies…

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“This is the seashore. Neither land nor sea. It’s a place that does not exist.”
― Alessandro Baricco

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Have you ever been accused of lying when you told the truth… it was not what others wanted to hear and so it became a lie.

Have you ever accused someone of lying because they told the truth… but it was not one you wanted to hear and so it became a lie.

Have you ever wondered how much of what you remember is true… and how much is a lie.

So much gets clouded…

sometimes by very beautiful clouds…

in a cerulean sky…

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Blue and whitea half of a whole

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But there is always a smudge in a corner… an edge of shadow… what is it?

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Is it the other half of a whole… of which only a portion can be seen…

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“We are full of words whose true meaning we haven’t been taught, and one of those words is suffering. Another is the word death. We don’t know what they mean, but we use them, and this is a mystery.”
― Alessandro Baricco

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Nostalgia…

is nastoria veckya…

una storia vecchia…

an old story…

retold…

but when retold it is more imagined than real.

But what is real and what is imagined…?

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I know I posted this song the other day… it’s stuck in my head… as silly as it may seem… there’s something in it…

It tells the story of Maria…

who disappeared, changed her name, went elsewhere, became someone else…

and someone is wondering about her, where did she go, what is she doing, who is she now…

Sometimes we are Maria…

Sometimes Maria is someone else…

sometimes she’s something else…

after which we chase… for which we long…

with a vivid nostalgia…

perhaps for that which we have never lived but would like to live because it promises us fulfillment…

happiness…

love…

wealth…

health…

wisdom…

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“Every so often I wonder what on earth we are waiting for…  …For it to be too late.”
― Alessandro Baricco

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Black and Whiteanother half of a whole

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Sometimes I get an overwhelming nostalgic longing for…

something…

somewhere…

which seems more real than what is here now…

a lustful yearning for… not the real thing… the imagined version of it…

a vision… from a dream…

a scent… ethereal…

a taste… which can never be eaten…

a sound… that can’t be heard…

a touch… that melts away…

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“Sometimes life shows you a side of itself which leaves you with nothing more to say.”
― Alessandro Baricco

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