The more things change…
There’s an endlessness about the ocean.
The way the tide shifts; creeps up, falls away. Waves sweep up the night, break under the stars; pull back, recoil, and reform. Wrap you tight in their arms, then lash out; dark lovers scorned.
They say the seventh is always the biggest.
The more things change, the more I feel bound to the ocean.
There’s an endlessness to the Spring.
The way the sky bleeds, rich pink and blue. Light bursts; rays cracking over the trees, haze burning off into the clouds. Blossom falls softly, and petals, like snow, brush the wind, kiss the air; white nymphs pirouetting on the breeze.
The world waits for four seasons. I wait for only one.
The more things change, the more I hold out for the Spring.
There’s an endlessness about the night.
The way the darkness falls out of the sky; calls you near, holds you close, pins you down with its weight. A garden of stars flicker fire overhead, burn bright then burn out.
I’m always saddest when the sun shines.
The more things change, the more I feel safe in the night.
There’s an endlessness to the silence.
The way loneliness blacks out all sound. A million critics pierce the space with their slurs, play a film reel on loop in your eyes. Silence is not silence at all.
What is it about the silence that’s so deafening?
The more things change, the more I get used to the silence.
There’s an endlessness about loss.
The way it peels back layers of hurt and pain. Steals the light from your days, hope from your heart. Soaks hot, rampant fury deep into your skin and ripples, resentful, in your blood. Drains you empty; your naked soul aching, fatigued and alone.
Loss is forever without.
The more things change, the more I fall into the loss.
There’s an endlessness to grief.
The way it lingers, intense, like a fog. Cloaks you in a cold, cruel melancholic mist and lulls you to numb. Explodes like fire. Ravages you in the blaze; chars you in the flames. Lodges back in your spine. Leaves you bruised, and worn, and bereft.
Grief is a shadow you wear.
The more things change, the more I make peace with my grief.
There’s an endlessness in love.
The way it scars you and soothes. Trembling, breathless, addicted, in awe. “Love bears out even to the edge of doom.”
Once you’ve loved, you can never go back.
The more things change, the more I am open to love.
There’s an endlessness about life itself. Which is odd, because life always ends.
Maybe endlessness is really just watching things change; a cycle of new things beginning.
The more things change; the tide ebbs, storm calms and clouds part, the more the endlessness shifts in my mind.
The more things change, the more I know I’m alive.
And the more things change, the more I know I want to stay.
