It’s 6 AM, but I’ve been awake since 4.

For the past four days, a nagging feeling of nostalgia, regret, and longing has crept intro the crevice of my heart reserved for sentimentality.

For a minute sometimes, I can forget about it; pretend it’s not there.

But then it comes rushing back: by a photo, a tweet, a song… Maybe that’s why I’ve deactivated my Facebook.

To make the pain of leaving a little easier.

Now let me try to explain exactly what this feeling is.

 

It’s nostalgia.

I miss the pumping music,

the high I was getting off life,

the bodies around me.

I miss how the air was frigid but I didn’t feel it,

arms wrapped around me by some boy who,

for some reason, had chosen to pay attention to me.

I miss how I was happy and could laugh at anything,

but more importantly make the people around me laugh too.

 

It’s regret.

For not kissing that boy when the clock hit twelve.

I was waiting for it, he was waiting for it,

and everybody else was waiting for it, too.

But at that moment my grit was nowhere to be found,

and I lost him; he left.

There was another boy, though.

He told me he loved me.

But this time it was me who left him,

because I’m stupid and refuse to give people a chance.

When the morning came and my regrets streamed out,

he, too, was nowhere to be found.

 

Most of all, this feeling is a longing.

I long to be taken back,

I long to be surrounded by the people who know me best.