Coming across long forgotten words you penned down ages ago feels like a sign from the universe in its attempt to be noticed. To be precise, I wrote this letter about a year ago, to a friend who was a dear part of my soul. Or so I thought.
It’s ironic that the “change” I very boldly addressed in my awkward handwriting has turned out to be the fact that my friend and I have grown so apart that we aren’t what we once were. Maybe I need to be reminded of what it felt like before I turned into my present self. Maybe I need to be reminded of the meadows and the butterflies, the flowers, the fireflies, the stars. I need to be reminded what summer felt like, as I meander through this never ending winter. I need to be reminded of me.
So had I been blogging a year ago, I would have sounded something like this. (And people tell me time travel isn’t possible!)
“Everyday that we’re alive and breathing, we are adding new experiences to the pages of our lives. We meet new people, learn new things, explore new avenues, make new mistakes, fall, tremble, bruise ourselves, learn to stand up, fight back and repeat the entire process all over again, ever single day that we’re not dead. And after this entire circle, which people call ‘life’, it is totally and irrevocably impossible to be the same person, to be the same individuals that we were yesterday. What I’m saying is that change is inevitable. We WILL continue changing until the day we die.”