This place is like somebody’s memory of a town, and the memory is fading.
– Rust Cohle
We miss people from one particular time. The laughs and the inane conversations.
We could try to tell people about how beautiful the moment was, so painfully beautiful.
But we’re never good words so we never tell a soul and trembled.
The smell of his neck. The coral shade of her lipstick. The wind that caress your face.
The memory we hold dear.
A distant nostalgia.