There is something so sad and beautiful about suddenly catching a shadow of a feeling, which itself is a ghost from your distant past. Something you vividly remember feeling but which doesn’t belong to you anymore, like walking through the streets of your childhood home or flicking through your ex’s Facebook pictures.
It can be triggered by something so insignificant – a particular way the light catches on the buildings and mingles with the sound of passing cars (and suddenly you’re 21 again, careless and giddy with wild adventure, overcome with joy on nothing but a simple afternoon errand run); or getting dizzy from the hint of someone’s perfume, painfully familiar and yet gravely distant (a visceral gut-wrenching reflex which makes you want to bury your face in their hair and laugh and cry).
The beautiful and sad thing about it is knowing you can’t hold on to that feeling, because it’s not yours – it’s not of this world, of this time. You just try to stretch it out, hold on to every breath, every second, remember it, live it, until it inevitably passes like the dissolution of a late-morning dream, the wisps floating away until even the memory of the feeling having been there is no longer sad but simply nonexistent.