Nostalgia can be kind of like a drug, I think, if you let it get to you. You think not only about the way things are, but the way you always wished they'd be, the golden idyll of then which is at such a safe remove from now. But this entire longing backward is unsustainable, impossible – time is perhaps not an eternal forward march, but neither is it something you can just reach back and grab. It recedes and eludes. Like catching hold of your reflection in a pool of water. You've got something. Not what you wanted.