I’m no longer in North Carolina,
and it’s so different; the
trees are
Different the grass is
Different.
I can smell that the air is
Different.
Is this even the same sky?
It can’t be, but when does something become different?
When I first see it?
Or is it when I plant my feet onto it; caress it with all that’s in me,
and finally, let go and tell myself:
“Everything’s changing, and you won’t ever be the same.”
Each finger knows, however,
unknowingly
the shape of all that fills this world.
The molecules that make me up will soon grow tired and self
destruct, yet here I lie, touching dirt on my floor,
surrounded by my crumbling skin, I’ve noticed I shed more now.
This crumbling half-life has always been over,
yet as it becomes what I call Different
I find my breath will flow and ebb.
Growing weight, sloughing off.
It’s so hard to quantify, just like how I half love myself and three quarters love everyone around me.
But only five sixteenths believe that everything is different.
Joshua Faith is practically an adult. He is currently deciding what he likes to write and lives in Hagerstown, MD, where he was born and raised. His works have yet to be published, but will still be produced regardless.