cravings

Sometimes I get a craving. A craving for things that I know better than to crave. These things offer temporary delight, temporary pleasure. But I know that they will come back to haunt me, that I will come back to berate myself.

A small emotion, a flickering memory, a tantalising smell: these things bring back memories of other times, other places, other versions of me. Times when I was not as much as I am now; times when I was not as whole as I am now.

The small desires, the small cravings, the small things. Things that are not meant to be done, not meant to be had, not meant to be felt. These are the small tortures from my past that I live with in moments of nostalgia, moments of weakness, moments of loss.

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