The Constant

The vertical line blinks for long stretches of moments, with a mocking constancy that should be slapping me hard on the face already. Without letters chasing it, it is nothing but an unchanging cycle of appearance-disappearance.

Without words, it is unchanging.

And, though experience has taught me that nothing is unchanging, I couldn’t help but yearn, yearn for what is constant and ceaseless.

I struggle against it, but my struggling remains solidly futile. I am but a pawn on the chessboard of change. In order for better things to come, I must sacrifice myself.

Because that’s how life is: we change in the hopes of arriving somewhere better.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around that idea. No matter how much I want to hold on to something, I couldn’t deny the fact that everything changes, even if you don’t want it to.

The great thing about change is that it doesn’t discriminate. Underneath its wings, it has all people.

Change binds humankind. It is in the flux that people find life. From then on, it’s trial and error and change.

Everything flows, nothing stands still.



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