leftover

THIS FEELING doesn't get old, does it? The feeling you get as your train pulls away from a station, from a comfortable familiar place. Only, you're not the one leaving, but a leftover washed ashore from a sudden shift of the tide, impermanence at default. Gears turn. The machine whirs. The laundry spins, as does the world, along with everything else sucked in time: all parts working to force change, always. So remind me again. Change is good and ever bittersweet. It never grows old.