Hold it close. Let it root deep within, spreading gently like moss on forgotten stones. A quiet memory.

In smoke, in silence, in passing things. It’s everywhere.

Nostalgia never asks permission. It arrives quietly, long after the warmth has gone.
It arrives softly, unexpectedly, hidden in quiet corners and overlooked spaces. It slips in unnoticed, revealing itself only once something precious has slipped away, leaving behind a gentle, bittersweet chill in its wake.

One day, memories too will fade away into nothingness. Until then, I want to keep them gently here, preserving their fragile beauty. My little love letter to nostalgia.