Nostalgia doesn’t just linger,
It stains.
It clings to the corners of quiet nights,
bleeds from old songs and familiar scents.
The hope you buried floats again.
It colors your laughter with a hint of crimson red;
blood and love intertwined.
It turns moments into memories—
soft, yet haunting.
It hugs you, just to stab and twists the knife.

It whispers sweet nothings.
Shows you who you were,
And it takes it away thoughtlessly.
It lingers in the air,
Just to paint its color in me;
Like a tattoo always clinging to my skin,
Like a scar that I'll always pill.