“I’ve never heard that song before, I like it. Play it again would you?”
“Why? It’s not going to the sound the same” – an excerpt from Diary of an Awkward Girl. 

PicMonkey Collage

The word Saudade in the Portuguese language, means to long for something. Nostalgia. That’s not quite the word for it, but it’s close enough. There’s no word for Saudade in the English language, I’m not making that up.

We will never have the same experience twice. How do I know that? Because driving through Times Square at 8pm on a Monday night will never feel the same, ever again. It’ll always be a beautiful sight, but you never get that first euphoric feeling back. So you have to shut up, sit there, and take it all in. Think about the way you’re feeling, how hard you’re digging your nails into the palm of your hands out of excitement. Your heart’s racing, and you can feel it as your fingertips are pressed against the glass. Remember that. 

We will never appreciate that moment of clarity, where it stops taking us 10 minutes to get out of bed. Because it eventually becomes a routine. How messed up it is it, that getting over someone becomes a routine. It’s even more messed up how many times the average human has to pick themselves up repeatedly. What’s even more messed up, is that in an instant we can relapse to that person, to any instance that feels like home. But the slightest gust of wind creeping through the window, reminds you of the cold February air, and how somethings don’t fit as well as they used to. 

I picked myself up again, and assumed I was more than ready before my heart could tell me otherwise. Until I’m seated in a restaurant, in a city that is about to steal my heart, and suddenly that familiar guitar riff echoes throughout the dimly lit space. The waiter drops a coaster off in front of me that says Saudade, and I question fate, signs, and all that  jazz

I question how I came home in August to the notion that a new kind of beautiful mind, whom never read a damn line of my work could potentially be what’s best for me. That every single time this year I drank about you, or drank until I was in front of you was happening for a reason. That this ideal human being, was never going to break my heart. Because don’t I deserve that?

But you should know better. You should know me by now.

So it doesn’t escape my mind, and I’m driving through the city thinking that you’ve walked through these same sidewalks. I wonder if it was the city that changed you.
I wonder if you wonder about me. I wonder if I made you see the world differently or in its complete form. And I wonder if I make you Nostalgic? Or something like that, not quite, but close enough. 



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