5.4.24 // Deep Craving Laced with Nostalgia

Over the last few weeks, I've found my heart yearning with a deep craving laced with nostalgia.
.
It's the yearning for sweet and slow days when life felt simple, responsibilities felt far away, and time felt more like honey and less like water - both slipping through my fingers but one with a stickiness that lingers.
.
It smells like fresh-cut grass that sticks to my legs when I run through the sprinkler, rain releasing after the buildup of a thunderstorm soaking the sidewalk in fat drops of water, "Juniper Breeze" from Bath and Body Works, the tart smell of the silver lining of a Gushers pack shared amongst friends, and sun-warmed Blue Moon beers next to a still chilly and mildly fishy Tennessee River.
.
It tastes like a 5-flavor pound cake from the local bakery down the road eaten consistently over one afternoon, like bagel sandwiches layered with American cheese and chubby summer-ripened tomatoes, like peach sun tea that was left out on the porch for hours - the cool pitcher beading with sweat as the tap water turns slowly to tea- like dust billowing into the open car window sneaking it's way onto my tastebuds as if a kiss from the mountains themselves.
.
It feels like the softness of holding on to my mom's back in the pool as we played dolphins, like my friend's lovingly firm huddle as we pose for a photo on my old digital camera when we wear our best dresses to go to Chili's, like the arm of a cowboy draped over my shoulders as we sit on the tailgate of his Tacoma drinking cheap beers, watching the fireworks over the mountains.
.
I find myself yearning for these moments like a flower growing towards the sun, reaching towards days I knew I loved at the moment but cherish even more now, five, ten, fifteen, or twenty years later.
.
Cognitively, I know you can't be nostalgic for the present like you can for the past. Like a transition lens, the present turns from clear to rose-colored with the passing of time.
.
But the current glass of my present feels smudged. There is no sweet, slow, sticky existence that leaves my heart wanting for nothing but the metaphorical lust of more time. Instead, my heart rate elevates as I sit in the present, the intangible sweet satisfaction of enjoyment feeling consistently out of reach like the morning dew always dissipating before the full sun.
.
So I yearn for the past, craving the sweet and simple and recognizing that the answer to my future lies somewhere through the rose-colored lens.