Nostalgia. Oh, how I love the feeling.

Staring across the dim room at my parent's house is where it began. Noticing the wooden draws that I painted a warm orange in primary school strengthened it. Opening the bottom-left draw, revealing my well-loved Nintendo, Nokia, and iPod is where it ended.

Nostalgia. Oh, how I miss the feeling.

I ran my rough fingers across the chipped edges of my iPod, drumming my fingers across it's back as I remembered the Beyonce songs that would blast through my little ears every night, while singing, or rather, screaming, the lyrics to 'Halo'.

Nostalgia. Oh, how it mocks me.

I can almost taste the fresh watermelon I would have on summer afternoons while catching the rarest of Pokemon. I was the envy of my year. The poisonous green vines that would entangle my classmate's attention, and direct it towards me, for praise and kind words.

Nostalgia. Oh, how it can be forgotten much easier than it can be remembered.

After year 6, my weapon of envy turned against me. It would continue to entangle my classmate's attention, but it would direct only nasty and demeaning words. It strangles me and always leaves me wordless.