I rather enjoy dressing up those mundane corners of my history like the walk between German class and study hall, or all the hours spent waiting for the bus.
Put on some old songs and I’m back there and it’s not nearly as excruciating an experience this time around. It all comes rushing back to me, save the awkward discomfort and crushing anxiety.
It’s not as if nostalgia erases all the dirt, it’s just a fucking break from it all. A lifetime’s supply of mistakes will be right there waiting for you to begin a new cycle of relentless rumination upon your return.