Sometimes you sort of forget...

And then you randomly travel through old photos, just because anything is better than trying to sort an essay that makes little sense...

and you find those moments, right there in your screen

your heart bits a bit faster

fuck

you had forgotten that

damn

You wish you were in that street

Wish you could look through that window again

Wish that coffee could meet your tongue once more...

shite

It was long since you remembered that 'Happy "bomb" day'. How funny.

And even though those nasty words (fuck, damn, shite and all that) come out of your mouth, you are no less than extremely nostalgic... and happy.

Yes,

because who would you be if it wasn't for every and each of those seconds that you spent there?

Sure, still Neus.

But a bit less Rodeta, you might say.

I would not say you learn how to appreciate things, people and places when you leave them;

it's rather that when you do

you can see, with the new outsider perspective, how incredibly huge that love actually was.

My love for Mostar, the school and its people would be overwhelming even for the whole Earth to handle

.

.

.

yet it fits in the slow motion tear that rejoices in the jorney through my skin.