Sometimes, the pieces you write feel out of reach. You can’t relate to them anymore, and you find yourself asking, ‘Where did this come from?’ ‘What was I feeling?’
Does this ever happen to you?
It’s like visiting a familiar parallel universe, where everything seems real, yet it’s not the world you live in every day.
You become the alien there, a fragment of a personality from that alternate realm you’ve touched once, but can’t fully bring back to life when you want to.
I’ve tried listening to the same songs, watching the same movies, trying to recapture that feeling, but I’ve realized no amount of nostalgia can recreate what I’ve lived.
Those experiences feel unique, and the emotions tied to them can’t be revived.
The pieces you once wrote now feel distant—no longer as emotionally alive, no longer as real.
Does this happen to you?
Clueless Ink 
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