Unhappiness and discontent grow-
   are gradual and steady things-
unnoticed until a Saturday afternoon breeze
steals inside your chest and stirs
   and stirs forever like unsettled dust
in an empty house.

Love grows old after long enough;
Life starts to feel thin and strained
   spread over so many years.
They are real things and natural, and
I’d rather they change as I do
   than be the same as they were
   years before.
It would be unnatural that these things
   might resist the will of time
when nothing else has.