"time was passing like a hand waving from a train i wanted to be on. i hope you never have to think about anything as much as i think about you.” j.s. foer

in the summer of 1996. 

it was hot. and i felt the creeping of something sinister. it had been crawling around for years. falling out of my eyes, and running an endless loop of nicotine and lyrics to songs that played on repeat in my mind, and on my cassette player - playing loud in an 1982 volvo. 

i flew to düsseldorf. a strange reunion with my cleanest of quiet rooms, depeche mode posters staring down at me, the glare of the streetlights curling the lips of my teenaged fantasies.

hugs to mum. onward to london. fred perry t-shirts and a broken heart. met with my best girl who got the guy, and pretended it all away. needing it to be okay. paying £6 for cigarettes i couldn't afford, eating hostel breakfasts packed away in my bag for lunches on the thames, cornerstore ramen on stoops in the evenings. 

a hottest afternoon, we landed on the odeon, leicester square. we stared at 117 minutes of filth in delight - watching others ruin their lives. the music was everything. diane was my hero. renton raced to star wars. time moved in the quickest of clips. and we're all twenty years older.

it was a saturday night then. and now again, in the summer of 2017.

a sofa and a quiet place all to myself.

nostalgia makes memories look soft, the corners less sharp. they don't bruise and bite as much as they did. i'd suffer those injuries on repeat, shuffling these more recent ones away. if only i could. if only nostalgia would.