Nostalgia | Esencia Journal
- Ana Paula Rivas
- 6 days ago
- 2 min read
Updated: 2 days ago
I don’t even know where to begin.
Perhaps with a memory, or with a thread of thoughts, little mental constellations, that always return to the same place.
I wouldn’t know what to call it, exactly. Nostalgia, perhaps? Yes, nostalgia — but not the kind that belongs to the past. What I miss, deep down, is that sense of safety in someone’s arms, the illusion of belonging to a world that finally felt like home.
With him, we used to chase sunsets on a bicycle. There was an entire universe of flavors, scents, and invisible formulas — not chemistry, exactly, but something close.
Life with him unfolded like a ritual of discovery. Laughter lingered in the wind. Music —always present somewhere— blended with the colors and scents carried by the changing seasons.
Mornings were slow and generous, steeped in the smell of coffee and the illusion of plans that never needed to be fulfilled.
Inspiration arrived every time the sun rose and traced its light across his world — his house, his name, and all the places that briefly became ours.
Everything he touched seemed to hold a secret promise, something full of potential. Even the most ordinary things — a book, a cup, a window left half open — felt charged with meaning, as if the light itself chose to follow him.
For a long time, I believed this was what love was meant to feel like: a soft expansion, a shared breath of possibility. And perhaps, in some way, it was.
But there were moments, especially when the days grew too perfect, when I sensed an almost invisible distance between us — a silence neither of us dared to name.
And maybe, all along, it wasn’t love I was chasing.
Perhaps it was that feeling — the utopia of feeling whole, even if only for a moment.
Follow along the journey:
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