along the way

old love and new nostalgia

I miss the girl whose name I cannot recall. We would play with the older girls in the yard during preschool. It was the first time I had a friend of my own. Someone who chose me, and someone I chose back. I don’t remember her face clearly, but I remember the feeling of belonging.

I miss the girl who had a big house. Her dog Lola, her loving parents, the warmth that filled every corner of her home. We would laugh until our stomachs hurt way past our bedtime. I never laugh that much with anyone anymore. Back then, happiness was simple, it didn’t need explanations.

I miss the girl who invited me to her table in middle school, who hugged me without reason. We were inseparable. We shared secrets like they were gold. We believed our friendship would survive everything; distance, change, growing up. But growing up has a quiet way of pulling people apart.

I miss the boy who was my first love. He made me believe fate was a gift, that the universe could choose two people and gently push them toward each other. With him, everything felt written in the stars. Or maybe I just wanted to believe it was. First love carries a magic that no other love can imitate. The innocence we have grown apart from.

I miss the girl who still calls. One day I will answer. Sometimes nostalgia is not about what is gone, but about what we are afraid to return to. It is easier to miss someone than to risk finding out how much has changed.

I miss the trio I had, before love and feelings complicated everything. Before jealousy, before misunderstandings, before emotions became heavier than laughter. We were just three souls who thought nothing could touch us.

I miss everyone in between–the temporary best friends, the almost-loves, the people who stayed for a season but left fingerprints on my heart. They all shaped me in ways I didn’t notice at the time.

Old love nostalgia is not just about missing people. It is about missing versions of ourselves that existed only with them. The braver me. The softer me. The girl who laughed louder, trusted faster, and loved without hesitation. Time moves forward, but pieces of us remain scattered in the past, attached to those who once meant everything.

Maybe we do not truly miss them. Maybe we miss who we were when we were with them.

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You sit at the counter, soft as a morning breeze

Peeling an orange, as sweetness trails down your cheek

I still feel your messages, even from far away

Like a quiet song — Phoebe humming in the glow

Amelia, you’re a light I still chase

Sitting in the morning,

waiting for you,

even in silence

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Per sempre ora: not forever but for now

new post every friday

your doll,

bambolina ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆