Once in a while,
a classroom buzzing with chatter
suddenly grows quiet,
then all you hear is the scratching of pencils and pens against paper with the occasional rustle of pages turning.

It hits you, then...consciousness.

Moments like that make me ache with bittersweet feelings. Nostalgia.
Like when I'm home alone and sunlight seeps into my living room uninvited; defying me.
Like how the moonlight has a life of its own, like how it scares me.
Like a good fairytale that sends chills up your soul.
Like the distant echoes of a church bell.
Like art and polaroids of frozen time.

It's all I think about during my long commutes to school; hyperaware, melting into the windowseat as the wind brings warped memories along with 'fresh air', accentuated with the faintest scent of rot so characteristic of a city buzzing with life.
So I believe. Against my 'better' judgement.

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