Everything breathes.
So do our elations
and desolations.
They recycle the energy
and find ways of seeping back into our life.
Without foreboding,
they reappear.
And so does the range of emotions
that accompanied them before.
Like they were imprinted
on your soul
forever.
As if nothing ever happened
in between.
But something did.
The coarse edges of time
shaved off some of your resistance.
Like a glacier inching forward.
Sanding you down to a smooth surface.
Dying in its course.
Carving and melting away.
Leaving you dry
and digested.
Change is the fabric of time
on its path to deconstruction.
We are the remains of the process.
The relics of refinement
of a structure in the making.
We are the deposits of adaptation.
The items that couldn’t make the cut.
This makes us
dead set against transformation.
Our reluctance has become
a second nature.
That is why we feel inadequate.
We were never meant to be
anything more than
leftovers.
So do our elations
and desolations.
They recycle the energy
and find ways of seeping back into our life.
Without foreboding,
they reappear.
And so does the range of emotions
that accompanied them before.
Like they were imprinted
on your soul
forever.
As if nothing ever happened
in between.
But something did.
The coarse edges of time
shaved off some of your resistance.
Like a glacier inching forward.
Sanding you down to a smooth surface.
Dying in its course.
Carving and melting away.
Leaving you dry
and digested.
Change is the fabric of time
on its path to deconstruction.
We are the remains of the process.
The relics of refinement
of a structure in the making.
We are the deposits of adaptation.
The items that couldn’t make the cut.
This makes us
dead set against transformation.
Our reluctance has become
a second nature.
That is why we feel inadequate.
We were never meant to be
anything more than
leftovers.