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The silvery moonlight creeps through my window, dragging a halo of silence that plunges me into the deepest nostalgia.
It is on these nights when I feel the irrepressible impulse to sit down and rummage through my memories, to rummage through the old trunk of my memory like someone who revisits old letters of yesteryear.
I see myself dancing barefoot in the rain, evoking that first love that wasn't really love.
I remember the times I said “yes” when I really wanted to shout “no”, and those times when “no” stuck in my throat like a bitter knot. I think about what I was, what I am, and what I will never become.
It's funny how sometimes I long for things that I don't even want to get back. An absurd contradiction, but such is my essence: nostalgic by nature, sarcastic by defensive reflex, free by unshakable conviction.
Tonight I had a glass of wine to the health of everything that no longer anchors me to the past and every lesson I learned to let go of.
Because if I have understood anything over the years, it is that life is too ephemeral to carry other people's baggage and too long to live it with regrets.
Tomorrow, perhaps, I will laugh at this irrational melancholy that invades me. But today, faithful confidant, allow me to be a sentimental fool who is enraptured by moonbeams.