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a spiritual archive.
sometimes the past doesn’t knock... it simply slips in through a crevice. nostalgia isn't passive, its participatory- it arrives with a grace that makes you compassionate. we say something feels nostalgic with such a tenderness and appreciation that naming the moment gives that feeling a hug.
nostalgia is provocative... it’s bold, yet it doesn't speak in full sentences- it stutters between joy and ache, between what was- and what will never be again... it’s a sacred language that honors your spiritual fluency.
even though we’re taught to document joy as if its’ worth depends on the evidence- we don't always realize we’re archiving while we live. every embrace. the inside jokes. songs played repeatedly on repeat- those become keepsakes...
it’s easy to forget memory is not just a record of what was, it’s a form of presence.
there’s an unspoken tension between catching the moment and being caught by it- presence versus preservation... we don’t always know how precious a moment in time is until it’s stored in the ache of remembering...
i mourn missing footage often... but the lens can’t always render what’s too tender to translate. some things live in a softness a frame couldn't hold. presence often slips past the aperture- teaching us not to chase what has passed, nor to preserve out of panic. we don’t always hold memory, sometimes it holds us. not all at once, but in fragments. in the scent of a room, in a line from a song, in a silence that feels familiar. it’s something we meet again, in quiet ways. in sacred stillness. in the language of nostalgia. nostalgia speaks to me every day. forever missing you. happy birthday Simone!
© 2025 NiKii Watson. All rights reserved.