I used to be dying for something new. And now, now I’d give anything for a familiar face. I’ve been trying to make it back home, but my feet just wont allow it. And my bag, packed full of stones, undone promises, memories, and past skins shed, as heavy as the world.
I’ve learned that once change has rooted itself, there is no going back. There is no weeding it out. And now my past can only live on inside of me; the people I’ve known, the places I’ve been, the things I’ve once loved. I’ll never feel those feelings again. And I often find myself asking the same question, “Am I that person you used to know?’ Am I that familiar face, to my familiar faces? I can go back over the same ground, but the trees will be taller, the grass perhaps greener, and I, with an older outlook.
Change is as constant as the seasons. But am I supposed to find comfort in that? Am I supposed to wake up tomorrow and be grateful I might not feel the same about the life I’ve been leading? There’s nothing exciting about the chances of a 50/50 shot.
I knew what I was leaving behind. I knew what I was sacrificing. My heart grew hungry for change, and once it was set on that, I could not rest until anything and everything was different. I needed this, like the day needs a sunrise to be a day. I needed this, for the sake of needing something that would be there, something I could lean on. I embraced the idea on every level. Everything I knew of, was soaked in things I no longer wanted to remember, things I no longer wanted to be. So why wouldn’t I set off to explore new territory?
The new filled the holes that the old left behind. Although, it wasn’t as fulfilling as I had hoped. There were holes that couldn’t completely be filled.
I guess what I’m trying to say, or perhaps understand better is; I never realized the void misery had left in me. That I could ache for such a life full of grief, something better left behind me. A concept I will never grasp. My needle in a haystack.