the smell of nostalgia

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Sometimes I can still smell the way the Church smelled every Tuesday where I used to dance, or I can still hear the crash of silverware against plates in the cafeteria. Sometimes I can still smell the smoke and the pine trees, along with the snow beneath our feet and sipping hot chocolate in the winter. Sometimes I can still remember the smell of pizza dough, and the sound of cars honking and street performers echoing sad songs across the Nashville streets. Sometimes I can still remember the aches of that one situation and I can still remember the way the lotion I was wearing smelled the first time I read that one book. Sometimes I can still remember the taste of the black coffee, the view of the first winter snow from my window, the sound of quiet music in my ears, and the feel of scribbling away at an essay outline. Sometimes I remember when it all wasn’t fading away. It was alive. It was happening. It was everything, everything but a memory. But now it’s nothing but a memory.

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