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.

"His nostalgic memories glorified them .."
Nostalgia is an enemy dressed as a friend—
An old friend with nothing but love to give,
When all it does is take;
Take our present with nothings of past.
A foe cosplaying amity,
A warm wind hiding its coldness
Until it touches your skin—
Softly like always.
Like it's protecting you while destroying your silently
It hugs you giving away it's warmth
Before strangling you, making you feel like a corpse;
Cold and wrinkled.

They say a butterfly cannot see its own wings,
But I can—
The mirror shows me that I’m a moth, not a butterfly.
As if it’s a cruel joke on me.
I stare and stare at the mirror,
Hoping and praying that it’s not how it looks.
I hope and pray that nobody can see me,
But they do—
Because that's the truth
But they do—
Not with admiration, but disgust and pity.