Change

Places change, people change; places are but faces of a larger scale. I once read that the heart changes slowly, ever so slowly, to spare us the pain of recognizing its change. So when we fall out of love, we fall painlessly, far more painlessly than when we fall in love. With a place, with a face, we fall in and out of love, just as we slip in and out of the chambers of our dreams, wondering which room hides the secret door to happiness. But when places change, when people change, why do I catch sight of a little window of winter sky just above my heart, why do I feel a winter chill stealing its way past half-open shutters? When places change, when people change, do we really know who is changing? Is it me? Is it you? The winter frost offers quiet answers as my heart begins to shiver from the cold. It is me, it is you. We never set foot in the same place twice. A place never encounters the same me twice. And you, do I ever encounter the same you? We change, have changed, will change again. But I really do wish that places and faces, every me, every you, could sometimes stay the same.