Nothing Changes

The beginning of a story is

always slow.

But soon enough everything becomes routine and

you forget

how that lull felt.

You forget how it felt to be innocent

and unaltered by

the world.

It is time for a change.

The leaves are going from green to

yellow and

orange and

red and finally to

brown.

Maybe it is time for me to do the same.

Maybe it is time to shed my colors and

return reborn.

At first is all seems the same.

As you are pulling in,

it looks like you could be back in your hometown.

But as soon as you take your first step into that

strange, strange world,

you know.

You know that you are not home any longer.

You are immersed into a new planet,

surrounded on all sides by

strange and

unfamiliar things.

And you feel so small because

you are looking at things you have never seen before,

and everywhere you turn,

there is not

a single

familiar

sight.

But then you catch the eye of

a single smiling stranger,

after having waded through a

jungle

of grimacing faces.

So you turn,

and after a long series of events,

you find your home in them.

But God is cruel.

He knows that we fall for the angel faces,

so he puts them on the people that will

hurt us,

just because he is still angry that his

favorite angel fell.

And then you are left there.

You are standing in the same place that you

started out.

And nothing has really change:

You are still sad and

hurt and

angry.

Your angel is

gone and

never coming back.

And the last image that

ever goes through your mind is

the one of her,

hair wild and

eyes bright and

red lipstick smeared,

leaving without saying

goodbye.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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