What makes me feel nostalgic is the smell of freshly baked bread, a quiet signal that a new day has begun.
Over the past few months, I have developed a fondness for bread to the point that it has become a regular substitute for my usual breakfast. Each time I have it, I am reminded of my travels in Europe, where mornings often began simply, with bread and jam.
It does not have to be an artisans loaf or a carefully crafted pastry. Any bread that is freshly baked and still warm is enough to evoke that sense of comfort.
Having carried this memory to the moment, I now experience a subtle, almost foreign nostalgia whenever I have bread as my breakfast.
A journey in ink 
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