If sentimentality were a kingdom, expectations would be the
bricks to its walls, and as people come and go your imaginary friends would
remain loyal as they lurk in the dark. I would hold its rusty throne made of
the stuffed animals that’s been forgotten and they would crown me with the
bottle caps I collected to remember stupid moments such as my juvenile junior
high prom or the day I stumbled upon one in the middle of the road. They would
hand me a bouquet of the numerous wild flowers picked by the innocents in their
naïve and idle days and the whole room would be decorated with the moments
captured on film, picture taken, some posters here and there, along with the
candy wrappers and movie tickets we’ve all stored in our wallets all our lives.
Nostalgia is our best friend, and sorrow is our gravity. We
dream of the vaguely remembered past and yearn for the future, as we drown in a
pool of endless questions… only to find reality pulling your leg and nobody
really knows when it tries to suffocate you or save you instead.
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