One thing about nostalgia is that it preys on your most vulnerable form — shattering the coat of mangoes on your mouth and painting it in something bittersweet because you suddenly remembered how you used to eat mangoes with your friends after classes end. And you start to think why you're eating it alone in your room, right after work, and you're lonely. You start wondering why you haven't been talking about the things you did after college on a lunch table with mangoes. It always paired perfectly well.
Your favorite snack and your favorite people. How come it became adrift?
The mango turns rotten, sour.
The other thing about nostalgia is that in fact it is a bitch.
You end picking the phone, scrolling through thousands of emails, only to find out about the message your friend has sent you last year. It was something you've never opened before, and when you click on it, you start to wish that there was an easier remedy for heartache.
To: Caroline I know you still love mangoes.
I ended up creating a cafe focused on that fruit.
Please don't reply.
From: Daphne
The last thing about nostalgia is that it would wreck you but won't apologize because after all, you did this to yourself.