Past is Prelude

I hate the feeling when I accidentally stumble on the pictures I took in the past or the journals I wrote years ago. It has this attraction that makes my knees weak, increase my heart rate and butterflies in my stomach. No, it's not a sign of typical "love" but it's more of fear and the desire twisted together in the most exhaustic manner.

I wish to dwell in there, but at the same time I have to be realistic and stay in tune with my time zone. What good does memories bring to me if this were to happen?

*I forgot where I took the image above from but I saved it in my computer. But credits to whoever to took this picture. I love.