(no subject)
il change
In French, and in a lot of languages I'd assume, the simple form and the continuous form of verbs are implied in one word. So 'it changes' also means 'it is changing.'
And I think that's more true.
I don't know if all people are like this, but I always find whatever I'm holding on to has changed. I'm always looking backwards, and maybe there's no way out of it. I know that today's monotany is tomorrow's nostalgia, but I live for what's already gone by.
This year, I had to change a lot. I think I learned that I could change, that I could survive being thrown into multiple worlds and then being torn away from them. But just because you can doesn't make it any easier, each time. I miss all of them, all of my different months and different years, and I wonder why I couldn't have just held on to one of them and made it my home. I've had a lot of good things, a lot of beautiful things, but in time, they've shifted -- not necessarily into something bad or good, but unrecognizable. Unrecognizable when you blink and look at them fresh, without the past.
And I wonder what other people choose to hold on to, and whether I have a right to interfere with that. And I wonder what they miss, what they regret, and what they look forward to. And I wonder if I'll ever know, or if these are the things things we're supposed to keep to ourselves.
In French, and in a lot of languages I'd assume, the simple form and the continuous form of verbs are implied in one word. So 'it changes' also means 'it is changing.'
And I think that's more true.
I don't know if all people are like this, but I always find whatever I'm holding on to has changed. I'm always looking backwards, and maybe there's no way out of it. I know that today's monotany is tomorrow's nostalgia, but I live for what's already gone by.
This year, I had to change a lot. I think I learned that I could change, that I could survive being thrown into multiple worlds and then being torn away from them. But just because you can doesn't make it any easier, each time. I miss all of them, all of my different months and different years, and I wonder why I couldn't have just held on to one of them and made it my home. I've had a lot of good things, a lot of beautiful things, but in time, they've shifted -- not necessarily into something bad or good, but unrecognizable. Unrecognizable when you blink and look at them fresh, without the past.
And I wonder what other people choose to hold on to, and whether I have a right to interfere with that. And I wonder what they miss, what they regret, and what they look forward to. And I wonder if I'll ever know, or if these are the things things we're supposed to keep to ourselves.