Childlike in my understanding and appreciation of how people keep on living their lives, even when I’m not witnessing it. I know that the world parts of the world keep existing, even when I’m not there, but sometimes I forget that progress is constant, that time pushes us forward towards the future. Like looking at the sea and forgetting that there is a tide that is pushing and pulling at the ocean. You forget about time and tide until you come back an hour later and the waves have eaten up the beach.
It surprises me how much the world carries on when I’m not looking.
There is now an exercise bike in my room. More mould above the shower, and the ceiling has pealed more. A toilet seat that isn’t broken. My soap has been used. There are new trinkets on the window still. An egg holder in the kitchen. More of the paint has been scratched away. A blanket in the sitting room. A bureau that isn’t mine. A brown box. A broken chair.
I always tell myself that change might not always be beautiful but it will create something different. Nothing is permeant. Time will make sure of this. Which is why returning was always going to be filled with emotions of pushing and pulling, tides running out as fast as they can, only to come home again before the sunsets.
I no longer feel attached to this timeline. My personality, resigned to a bookshelf and some draws. My existence in this space has been dismantled. My sun has scaffolding. It’s now just an area that I just happen to be occupying, and some of the possessions just happen to be in it. You cannot own space, only occupy and defend it. And that space is not mine.
Time and tide are as impatient as humanity.