it feels different
It feels different. It feels different to come to a place where you were happy and not have the things that once made you happy. Having to find new pieces for the puzzle, knowing it will never be the same. People come and people go, that’s just life. And even the ones that stay, have gone away.
I’ve never come back to a happy place because I’ve always been scared. Now my fears have been validated. It’s not bad for things to change, but it’s definitely different. I’ve been holding on to this word and came up with my own umbrella definition. Every day it changes.
On Monday I embraced different as the peculiarity of new systems to guide myself through. On Tuesday, different was the amplitude of possibilities. Wednesday came, and I saw potential. Thursday made me cry, and on Friday I encountered an ex-lover. An ex-lover turned friend, turned acquaintance, turned a stranger. We crossed eyes and didn’t even acknowledge each other’s presence. On Friday, different turned a story into a memory. A memory which is more of a reminder. It's a reminder of how relationships sometimes fade into memories that tug at our hearts.
I live to create new memories, but I sometimes imagine what would have happened if we’d still be writing that story. It wouldn’t sell, but we could keep it for ourselves. Or maybe it was the case that our genres can’t coexist in the modern world. I write poetry, you write fiction. Our worlds would collide, so I guess that’s how things had to turn out. I guess some stories were never meant to be written. On Friday we were nostalgic.
On the weekend we recharged, and here we are, ready to do it all again, until different becomes hope. Hope for a brand new start. Sometimes starts don’t happen in the beginning, and I’m choosing to rip one page a day until I’m ready to write a new novel. Or perhaps I’ll keep ripping pages until the past is in the past and there’s enough space to write a new future. It just feels different.