i’m so nostalgic, so sentimental. even while my day job is being the bridge-burning cynic, i sift through my memories constantly, hold tight to the good ones. even the smallest memory, like smiling at a stranger at disney world, paired with the thought that ‘the world’s gonna be alright’, or the overwhelming memory of skydiving, the immense, heavy quiet after the parachute opened.
i think it all stems from that whole thing i have with death. the morbid fascination, the half-suicidal ideation, the feeling that i probably won’t be here for too long so i might as well just sit in my hermit house and pore over the comforting memories while the world could implode outside and i’d still have my misered-away memories.