I wish I could develop a sense of nostalgia for the present.

I wish I could develop a sense of nostalgia for the present, not for the past, as one does more often than not. There is, in that sort of puzzling uneasiness called ‘melancholy’, a shade of realization that doesn’t always reach the threshold of pain. So it’s worth getting soaked into it.

I wish I could experience the present as if it was already gone and without the hope to live it again because it wasn’t enough, because time couldn’t elaborate it all in a single shot. Better yet: to experience the present in some kind of past, not in the present.

That would throw lights in the stillness of time. It would be like taking the best part of a path that has yet to come. How beautiful is the past, at times! And how much of it gets lost, too lost, diluted, in time. Yet beautiful it remains.