I was only fifteen inches and barely seven lbs, I was born with really curly dark hair and five different illnesses. The first year of my life I spent strapped to a bed to make sure I didn't move around and choke.
It's always been a ******* trap.
Nowadays my legs hang off my bed because my body is too long.

The place becomes familiar, the weeds start to appear, my dark roots start to show on my patchily bleached chemically stained hair, the hard drive starts to slow down, I have to take my car to the mechanic, and you feel like us changing from what we once were is just a part of life.
The bones break, the skin wrinkles, the metal rusts,
my shoes have holes, my hands have cuts, my body starts to grow tired, the job gets boring, stuck in the same place with the same people doing the same thing, life becomes just routine alongside the winter that turned to summer and the people that you can no longer consider strangers. The money runs out, the clothes start to wear, and all of it, absolutely all of it, loses its charm.
You say nothing can stay the same as the beginning, but do you realize what that equates?