Bittersweet

We are always reaching; arms spread outward, hands wide open, fingers stretched apart, tiptoed…

Reaching out for something we couldn’t hold forever.

Reaching out for certain places that have nostalgia painted all over them. Certain places where we used to hide from the rest of the world. Places that ignites fireworks inside of us.

For moments we left behind, moments we’re in between, lingering in our site, between our fingers between every other -not as important- memories we have.

There are certain names that fill our heart with hope, with love, and loss.

And because we already know the ending, we hold on even tighter. Too busy trying to hold on to whatever remnants we still have. Too busy falling for those places, those moments, those people over and over again.

Even if we know loss and its soreness, nostalgia tastes sweet. So we tighten the grip even harder. Knuckles go white, palms red from rushed blood and our tongue.. still tasting like sugar.