She said that she didn't understand how I wasn't sick of her yet, after spending so much time together.

I tried to imagine getting sick of her, but how could I? How could you ever possibly get sick of music?

I take her everywhere with me. She plays softly in the background, almost constantly. I love all of her and appreciate her filling the silence for me.

Sure, there were a few times where I wished that I could have just skipped on to the next song, but I always let her play through from start to finish.

From the second first kiss to the dramatically painful record scratch... From her debut to my heartbreak.

I could never get sick of her. She is, and always will be, my favourite song.

Change is the blink of an eye
or the shift of a gear.
Change is saying goodbye
or a new outfit to wear.

Change could be a decision
or the reverse.
Change could be a promotion
given to someone else.

Change could be a relationship
whether old or new.
Change could be a friendship
adding or taking away a few.

Change is biology
the study of life.
Change is psychology
talking to a man to drop the knife.

Change is adaptation
When we have to adjust.
Change is transition
be it to or from a new post.

Change is acceptance
be it about you or a situation.
Change is reluctance
to move beyond your current position.

Change is Barack Obama
when he killed Osama.
Change is Donald Trump
Acting like a complete dumb.

Change is regime change
President Ellen Johnson leaving her position
Change is working with something strange
President Weah winning the election.

Change is new wealth
When you enjoy new money.
Change is a better health
Replacing sugar with honey.

Change is giving birth
when you bring forth a child.
Change is death
Or being buried in the field.

Change is taking a wife
and gladly jumping the broom
And staying together for life
till death do your part.

Change is tomorrow
for nobody knows what it'll bring.
Whether it'll be some kind of sorrow
Or a song of joy for us to sing.

     IvanBrookspoetry©️

You’re everywhere.

I hate it. But I can’t help it.

You’re behind me in my own reflection.
You’ve stained the walls of my own house with your scent.
Your mark is left on every love heart scribbled on a sticky note.

I still have them.

Your memory plagues my vision.
I can’t go out without you in my mind, strong as the taste of blood on my tongue.

My anger flows hot and white, but not at you.
At myself, for being such a fool.

And yet, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.