It’s what you get when you think that the best days are the ones in the past.
It clings to you as you pull aside the blankets, step onto the cold hard floor and saunter drowsily to the bathroom. Even the morning shower isn’t able to wash it away.
It rests upon my aching shoulders as I walk towards the new busy school environment I’ve been thrown into, where I wait to escape every day. There’s not much inspiration when you know your best friends aren’t beside you anymore, and that adapting has taken longer than anticipated.
It’s hard to be yourself in a place you find you not yet belong.
Age has left me with something: It’s not exactly homesickness, but then again its not quite like anything else. It provokes thought of “I’ll never be able to… again” and “It’ll be a long time before I ever see…”. It brings out lament and regret, and a feeling that the future won’t be as special.
As we roll by with the years, it’s always advised we move on.
“Look ahead”, they say. “What’s in the past remains in the past.”
But how often are we truly able?
There are the numbers of such fond rememberance you wished that time, perhaps on a little time train, could bring you back, for you to relive or even prolong those moments. But time won’t stop, and it forbids you to return, no matter the strength of your longing.
Are our golden years behind us?
I can’t tell for sure, but when the sun rises on another stilly morning, I hope it’d be the start of a new one.