There are days when I'm just gripped by nostalgia. I find myself perusing the multitude of photos I had taken in Germany, and in viewing them, feel the rush of emotion that comes with remembering the things I did there, the people I met, the sights I saw. Something grips my heart, constricting in a tangible and real way, made out of a sense of wistfulness and longing, bordering on painful. A lump forms in my throat, impossible to choke down. It makes me feel so sad. My heart feels like it's crying for something that has been so forcefully and mercilessly torn away from it. I want to reach out for it, but it's so far away, so beyond physical reach that it hurts. Yet it becomes almost like an addictive sort of sadness, where, despite the tirade of emotions so powerful it makes me want to cry, I cannot stop myself from constantly revisiting the photos, constantly wanting to feel the way I did, constantly wanting to immerse myself in everything that being in Germany was to me.
It's getting to be mildly ridiculous I think, but on some level, it is the most delicious sort of pain.