I always imagine that I’ll run into people from my past and hear about their life from the point where I disappeared.

And we could reminisce about how we were in love and things could’ve been different instead of difficult. A chance to celebrate old days in our new lives.

Airports are made for drinking, and talking to strangers while I recede from all the realities around me, deeply. A pool of nostalgia.

It’s lonely work to recall all the people you used to know.

I’ve got a morbid disposition, and all my hopes are about what I could have done instead of what I might do.