If cold was a movement, it would be a slow movement, just like the rocking of the waves in the smooth surface of a lake, in the afternoon, in the hours after lunch, when everything is paused and out of the usual timeline. If nostalgia had a colour, it would be dyed blue. It would be a frozen and sharp blue, like the wind in the high winters that are difficult to reach by bus or by car. It would have a smell, I do not know which one, but it would have one, and the smell would be nostalgia as well, and blue and slow like the cold as well. And the cold, and the nostalgia, and the blue colour and the wind would all be surrounded by a sadness halo that would look alien if we saw it from afar, like introduced by force in the last moment. Nevertheless, if you came closer you would understand: sadness is exactly what this moment was missing in order to be complete, to be beautiful, to make sense.If cold was a movement, it would be like the rocking of the waves. If nostalgia had a colour, it would be blue, frozen, sharp. If silence had a smell… it would be a cold, nostalgic smell.