“Anemoia.”

a poem written by me.

        Anemoia is defined as "the feeling of nostalgia for a time or place that one had never known or experienced." I think that is why I do nothing. I love to dream, make up stories, and think about "what could have been." It is why I love movies and shows — it proposes its world to me without asking for anything in return. They give me the emotions without the pressure of experience.

        Growing up as the observer automatically granted me the feeling of anemoia; always the spectator, never the player — always the audience, never the hero. And it isn't that I don't want to experience life; honestly, I wish it came to me naturally. But just don't think I'm good at living. In fact, I enjoy more when I do less. I watch as the world of trees grow around me and the rain falls; bugs flying as the animals crawl in the grass.

        Maybe the anemoia doesn't come from the enjoyment of looking, but perhaps the fear of ruining something so good. How can my eyes see beauty while my hands seek destruction?