Things are always changing, always shifting.
Nothing will ever be still or certain.
There will be losses and gains, just as there always have been.
There will be love and kindness; hate and resentment.
They will always be there, in interminable existence.
My past is in the palm of my hand, sitting there like a lump of wet clay.
As time ticks past, it melts away.
Leaving me, and all of us, for tomorrow.