Nostalgia is something I’ve felt before. It’s something everyone feels at some point. The smell of a Thanksgiving dinner, the grass brushing a child’s knees as they kneel to pick up an Easter egg, the loud boom of fireworks overhead on the Fourth of July. It washes over me and makes me ache for a childhood I never had. Connor’s family sits around me. They laugh and smile; they joke and play. Children run around the table, reminding me of myself at that age. Or what I wanted at that age, anyway. My mom’s family wasn’t like this. We had one Thanksgiving, when I was four, when my parents fought and screamed. Everyone left before the turkey was out of the oven. How I wanted this kind of Thanksgiving. Connor squeezed my hand and a tear fell down my cheek. This is all I wanted, yearned for. 
    Nostalgia could be a Christmas tree, or the sound of bells, the smell of chestnuts. Connor’s family invited me for Christmas too. Their Christmas Eve was joyous and light. There was dancing and food and the opening of one gift each. Tomorrow, they say, there will be more. I never got more. Only one. My mom smiled as she handed me my present for the year. “Merry Christmas, cupcake” she would say as I tore the paper open. Our Christmas day was never big and loud, but it was special and it was ours. Christmas morning at Connor’s house was happy and colorful, and big and loud. I opened present after present; they never seemed to end. 
Nostalgia could be the New Year, with Auld Lang Syne and champagne and a glittery ball dropping to the ground. Surprisingly, this was one where I felt real and true nostalgia. My mom and I would always celebrate New Year’s. Together, we’d watch the ball drop on our tiny television set then end the evening with a squeeze and kiss on the head.
Valentine’s day isn’t about family, but I always wanted to celebrate it with someone. Chocolates, hearts, roses, love. Things I never experienced until I found Connor. I could say that I am nostalgic for these things, whether or not I’ve had them in life. The feeling of joy they bring me is overwhelming, and it reminds me of a long time ago. It reminds me, not of a memory, but of a dream. A need to have these things others enjoy so much. An ache, a hunger for the wonder and bliss of the world around me.
Valentine’s Day -- the day Connor proposes. I said yes. I went to my mom’s wedding when I was seven. She was marrying for the third time, and he left her five months later. I said yes to Connor, determined to live a better life; to give any children we have a better childhood; to celebrate every holiday.
The nostalgia is real this time. It’s not a wish for the feeling that’s not there. It’s the happiness of having a family. My new, and only family. Bliss worth waiting for.