present-nostalgia

Is it possible to be nostalgic for the present? I didn't think it was, but these past few weeks have proven me wrong. I am nostalgic for these moments that I don't--can't--capture and for the ones that I attempt to capture but never fully succeed. I am nostalgic for the simple way we share bread and butter together, the times we sit in the sun doing nothing but talking about everything, and our ritual of getting ice cream every time we're in town. Stracciatella will always bring back memories.

We went to Bonn to visit my cousins for a day this weekend--Maxi and Anna-Lou are my only cousins and I'm lucky if I see them once every two years, but it's always a sweet time when we're together. We stuffed ourselves on gummy bears from the Haribo outlet and ate the best cinnamon buns on the hammock and visited old ruins atop a steep mountain. On the way home, on the train, we laid all the seats flat in our compartment, like a big bed. I laid on the cushioned seats wanting that train ride to last forever.

And I think the main reason this present-nostalgia creeps in is because I know these are the moments I'm going to miss most when I'm back home. My presence around these parts has been sparse lately, and will probably continue to be, but I got to see my dad for the first time in five weeks today--the longest we've ever been separated--and I have two and a half more weeks left here and I'm ready to make to most of it.