Your life is full of spectacular quiet.
Full of faraways and farewells, because for you it’s true. People change. If they don’t, the circumstances they face make them change. You know this now because you are old enough to know that it’s the truth.
It’s weird how easy it feels now. People move away, come back. They come back different, thinner, older, with different interests. The girl who used to hate motion now loves yoga. The boy you knew in college tells you, quietly, he really really likes boys and maybe he always did. You’ve changed, but you don’t admit it. You move quietly. You don’t feel that young urge to make people like you. But you don’t laugh as much as you did.
You try to make it better by thinking, oh, I’m not the only one in the world saying goodbye, or hello again. Or asking how someone is over miles and miles.
“Hold still, I’m taking a screenshot.”
“Okay. Do you know the sun sets at 9 pm over here? It’s crazy!”
You spent a part of your life submerged, thinking maybe this is it for you. There’s nothing else, because you can’t imagine anything else. You’ve ended too. It feels like you cast paper into the water and when you made a grab for it, it disintegrated. You can’t put anything back together. You feel like you barely remember it. But it’s not true.
It just shifted. Nothing really ends.
Daisy in the garden