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I learned it from the Neapolitan ice cream. That was when it started. 

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Nothing monumental had happened, no shooting stars or smoke signals or obvious signs of any kind had descended. But by this point, I understood the message. I had come back because something told me to.

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When something—a smell, a sound, a taste—induces nostalgia for me, it isn’t for my actual experiences, nor is it for a rose-tinted past that I lived differently to how I view it. It’s for past me’s romanticized version of the future.

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Promise me, before you go and long for a fire that has been extinguished, consider the fact that the lost love you are dreaming about, ended for a reason.

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And we all — all of us — think about our exes.

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The generations that follow Millennials will never know the joy of hearing dial up internet, reading song lyrics as away messages, and setting alarms with the speakers on high to rush back from the TV because your crush has logged on.

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She was shy and strong. Honest and outspoken. And incredibly vulnerable and brave. And she was different.

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I have hopes for you.

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Sometimes people miss the way you made them feel about themselves.

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Don’t go back because of the memories. Don’t go back because of the peak moments or because of the highlight reel you’re looking at.