Time is endless but our minds thrive off of compartmentalizing.
So we reduce time to specific fragments and assign rules to them,
but we quickly comprehend that doing so won’t award something the sense it’s lacking.
How impatient we can be.

Change— we have all acknowledged its transformation in some way,
and since we may subconsciously enjoy the shadows it ordinarily exposes, we expect for Change to transform others as well.
If Change has not modified someone else’s life, we tend to panic for them.
We are so quick to judge, no matter the circumstance.
Sometimes we will even attempt to embody Change itself, to mold people and situations to our benefit.
Self-indulgent behavior, everywhere.

I look outside my window and see raindrops. These forms, too, have changed. They will appear to be stagnant, for some time, full-figured against the glass, but soon enough Change will arrive, riding a warm breeze or beaming with the searing sun, and everything will shift.

Nothing is permanent.

I still wonder how two people can be together their whole lives, while embracing, at the same time, that nothing is permanent. Maybe that is trust and faith symbolized together.

Maybe I’ll never experience that.

How will I know if things are real or if I’m just masking something that hurts? How do we know that any of this is the truth?
All I am aware of is that when I allow someone to touch me, I feel real.
Sometimes this is hard to express.

Sometimes this is hard to express (2019) by Violette Guevara

Sometimes this is hard to express (2019