on the days that i want to curl and retreat into myself,
crumble onto the floor,
become nothing other than a flat,
one-dimensional version of myself,
folded in half—heavy and numb all at the same time.
my imagination takes me to a place i’ve never known;
it takes me through interactions and conversations,
moments of a life unknown—
a place familiar, yet intangible.
memories that feel full,
yet are nothing more than a veil
for the escapism that is my reality.
why is it so sad
to experience anemoia?
when i think of nostalgia,
it doesn’t quite feel like how anemoia feels…
i long for a time i’ve never known,
one that i can only wish to know—
to feel, no, yearn, so deeply for something—
someone—
i have never personally
had the pleasure of
experiencing.
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