Letters to… Nostalgia

Dear Nostalgia,

I remember:

the giddy feeling of being alone in my Residium room with new bedsheets and bare walls
the way the light struck the cathedral so that the brick became rosy and warm
champagne, in flutes and water glasses and plastic cups and mugs
seeing the old library for the first time, falling for its wooden shelves and musty smell
the teachers that sparkled, the teachers that burned me out
early trains into Paris, groggy but eager
late trains back from Paris, footsore but content
the tired collapse onto a small bed after a long day, a friend, a cup of tea, fairy lights
pasta sticking to the bottom of the pot, burning
running through the streets, drunk and stupid, in love with being drunk and stupid
the feel of hardwood floors under my bare feet as I moved my things in to a new apartment on the other side of town
breakfasts where baguettes were broken and eggs were cooked on a hob
parties where empty bottles were broken and glass danced all over the kitchen floor, glittering
cups of milky tea cradled in hands I have held
red-eye flights and sleeping on different shoulders in different airports
heels tottering over cobblestones
the buzz of a night out, the droop of the morning after
sore eyes reading readings that must be read
countless cups of coffee at Oma, unwinding, unpinning myself from myself
the courtyard in the sun
the courtyard in the shade
the courtyard in the rain
the courtyard
Sciences Po, for all its beauty, for all its flaws, for letting me belong for a little while