Bookmark #330

I left the city at the tail-end of winter and came back at the onset of warm, comfortable spring. It made me think about how much changes in about a couple of weeks. Yet, when we wanted change, we rarely noticed any for years. What is that point of inflexion, I wonder? When do things warp into another? How is change so invisible, so elusive, and yet so present? They say the only constant is change—show it to me, then! Point me to it when it starts to happen. I want to observe it as it unfolds; I was tired of being a witness to the before and the after. I could only beg, but it would be a pointless exercise. Change happened when you weren’t looking. When did I become so happy, so blithe about all things? Was it yesterday, or was it a month ago? I could not know.

Why don’t I feel the weight anymore? I’ve thought a lot about where I forgot it, and I have no answer. Life was a lot like seasons in that regard. We could not know the precise date when a season shifts. The meteorologists, the scientists, the calendars have a lot to say about this, of course, but it did not matter what date spring began on; spring began when you showered on a slow Saturday afternoon, and as you picked out your clothes for the day, you decided you did not need that extra pullover. Perhaps, only a shirt will do just fine. Spring came in the ballpark of the same time for all of us—at least those in the same hemisphere—but when it truly arrived was up to the person experiencing it. It was the same way with happiness; it was the same way with love. You could not put a time stamp on experience.

What do I do once the pain is over? What of my countless notes about it? I wonder if my sentences, the ones yet to find a place in these passages, are now worthless. Then, it occurs to me how seasons change, how they always return. So, I bind all of them in a neat folder. Perhaps, I will revisit them in some time. Naturally, I could not say when it might be, but I hope with all my heart it is not soon. After all, spring has just begun.

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