Memories. It is what I hold as my dearest possession. Yes, over any computer, iPod, jewellery. Actually, the computer holds pictures , Ipod songs, jewellery sentimental value, bringing back memories. So forget what I said.

Every passing millisecond imprints a memory in our minds. Whether we will remember it in 3 minutes or 30 years all depends on what happened exactly during this precise millisecond. Was it grand? Was it stressful? Was it exhilarating? Was it crushing? You tell me.

Your mind is like a desk. Fresh or important memories neatly displayed on the top, others classified in specific drawers carefully labelled "Summer 2014" or "1rst of May 2003", and others, like the thick coat of dust which accumulates between your desk and the wall, long forgotten and occasionally stirring. It only takes a gust of wind, a few first notes of a song, a whiff of perfume, to drag you in the whirlwind of remembering.

Remembering good times is always pleasant. A slight smile brightens your face as you recall how happy you were. You try to grasp every single details of this specific memory, to visualise it, to feel it, to experience it all over again.

Then it comes. A tidal wave triggered by this wind, crashing on you at the horrible realisation that it's gone. However hard you try, it will never happen again, you will never live it again.

Longing grips your guts, you wish you could turn back time to give it one last try. You hold on to the memory, closing your eyes to solely focus on the song, you breathe in deeply the last fragrance of perfume, you caress those soft shells, so small but so important.

What was joy becomes sadness, and in those times, I could call anyone, anybody linked to this memory and frantically admit how I despairingly missed them, how much I cared for them and needed them, how I want them to be here, with me, right now, to save me from my shattering nostalgia.

But I don't. I can't. I refrain. They would believe I'm crazy.

They are half true. I am crazy. Crazily needing them.