Well not all the time but very often my soul roams in autumnal lands where the trees are always quite bare, and handsome, honest people bathed in the glow of a perpetual sunset play haunting melodies.
My Oldest Memory - Bowerbirds
It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds
This line from a DCFC song stuck in my head on my way home and I decided I'd actually like that it is a faulty camera, with its flashes, blurs and distortions. That's beauty right there, in imperfection. That will explain nostalgia. With the amount of pictures taken everyday now with pro cams with ever-escalating megapixels, how many will stand the test of time?