There was a point in time when this nauseating nostalgia would find me. Long after my brain had melted away every specific detail and deformed them into abstraction. A recollection of a period of time when colors were less vibrant. The air was stale, and food had no taste. Where I hadn't realized I tied those trimmings to music, places, and experiences.

There was always a sort of cold comfort in observing others. A coping mechanism that assured life was still going on and that one day, I could be a part of it again. Ironically enough there was a sort of equilibrium in returning to these places.