Nostalgia
Dear Diary, I want to tell you a lot of happy stories. Stories where the beginning, middle and end are laced with joy. Stories that warm your pages, and go beyond possibilities. But I can’t. And that hurts me, too. So here I am again to tell you a story of a beautiful boy who once loved a girl…… He would notice how her mouth would curl, very slightly, to the left side when she would just begin to become annoyed. He would notice how her hair would slightly twist at the ends when she slept longer than every day, and how the tiny, otherwise unrecognizable blush would creep up her cheeks when someone would give her a compliment. He would notice how her nose would scrunch up in distaste whenever she saw that guy she thoroughly disliked, and how her fingers would involuntarily curl into a fist when she saw the girl with bruises on her cheek from her father’s rage. He would discern her toes curling inside her shoe whenever her chance to speak in front of an audi
