Missing a Time I Never Lived In…
There’s a word for it, anemoia: nostalgia for an era you never experienced. A strange ache for something just out of reach. Not a memory, not exactly a dream… more like a whisper from somewhere just beyond the veil.
For me, it often arrives in moments like the image above: a misty garden with ivy creeping up old stone walls, an ancient manor silhouetted in the distance, books stacked high on a weathered wrought-iron table, and candlelight flickering softly against the breath of autumn. I can feel the damp earth beneath my feet, hear the soft rustle of turning pages, and the wind through the trees. I can almost smell the wood smoke and rain.
But I’ve never lived there. Not in this lifetime, anyway.
And yet, something in me longs for it. As if some part of my soul once knew the rhythm of that life. A life where days passed slowly and meaningfully. Where silence was a companion, not a void.
Why do we feel this way?
Maybe it’s the pace of this modern world, everything so fast, so loud, so digitally frantic. Notifications chirp, timelines scroll endlessly, and we’re constantly being pulled away from ourselves.
So we drift toward imagined pasts, slower, simpler times. Places where letters arrived in envelopes, not in inboxes. Where stories were told by the fire, not streamed. Where time had weight, and presence was more than just a setting on your phone.
Of course, no era was perfect. We know that. But anemoia isn’t about romanticizing history, it’s about honoring the feeling.
It’s about your soul remembering something your body never lived through.
It’s about home, in a sense that defies geography or timelines.
Is it Déjà Vu? Or Something Deeper?
Some might say it’s just imagination. Or wistfulness.
But I’ve learned not to dismiss feelings like this.
Because what if… just what if… they’re echoes? Threads from other lives, other timelines, other soul stories we’ve carried with us like buried treasure? What if these moments of deep longing are actually truths, quietly calling us back to ourselves?
Every time I hear a haunting piano melody, or catch the scent of old pages, or see candlelight dance on a rainy night, it returns. That ache. That deep, wordless remembering.
It’s not sadness.
It’s yearning.
For beauty. For stillness. For something sacred that maybe we’ve lost along the way, but haven’t forgotten.
Maybe You Feel It Too…
Maybe you’ve walked down a cobbled street in a town you’ve never visited and felt like you were home. Or maybe you’ve run your fingers over an old piece of lace, or stood in a centuries-old room, and felt recognized.
If you know that feeling, that beautiful, confusing ache, then you understand.
You’re not alone.
It’s okay to miss a time you never lived in.It might just be that part of you did.
Mae 🧡
UNDER THE WILL... OVER THE DRAMA... 
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