Change
Change is inevitable. It moves like an invisible current beneath our feet, shifting the ground before we even realize we’re standing on something new. It’s quiet at first, creeping in through the cracks of routine, whispering in the space between comfort and chaos. And then, all at once, it’s everything. It’s in the way someone looks at you differently. In the way a place you’ve always known suddenly feels unfamiliar. In the way a single moment can rewrite the entire story you thought you were living.
People think change happens in big, earth-shattering ways. A bolt of lightning. A sudden storm. A door slamming shut so loudly it rattles your bones. But sometimes, change is subtle. It’s a slow unraveling. A quiet goodbye in the form of growing distance. A shift in the way someone holds you—tighter, looser, or not at all. It’s a breath held too long. A touch that lingers a second too short. It’s in the way we wake up one day and realize we are no longer the same people who once fell in love, or the same people who once walked away.
Change is cruel that way. It asks for no permission. It does not wait until we are ready. It does not care about the promises we made, the futures we envisioned, the comfort we so carefully built around ourselves. It comes whether we want it to or not, demanding we choose: fight it or embrace it. Stay behind or move forward.
But here’s the thing about change—it doesn’t always take. Sometimes, the more things change, the more they stay the same. The person you swore you had lost forever finds their way back. The dream you thought had slipped through your fingers returns in a different form, one you never saw coming. The love you were sure had faded rekindles itself in a quiet moment, in a single look, in the space between words unspoken.
Change is terrifying, yes. It steals what we thought was certain and replaces it with the unknown. It forces us to grow, to let go, to begin again. And growing? It hurts. Anyone who tells you it doesn’t is lying. Change leaves scars in places we didn’t know could break. But scars are proof of survival. They remind us that even in our breaking, we heal. Even in our endings, there are new beginnings waiting to unfold.
So we stand on the edge of it, hearts pounding, hands trembling, knowing that once we take the step forward, there is no going back. But maybe—just maybe—that’s the point. Maybe change isn’t something to fear at all. Maybe it’s a promise. A chance. A new chapter waiting to be written. And maybe, oh maybe, change is good. Sometimes, change is everything.
Change is the wind whispering through open windows, reminding us that life moves whether we are ready or not. It is the scent of rain-soaked earth after a storm, the hush of dawn breaking over sleepless nights, the way the ocean never resists the pull of the tide. It is the stars shifting into constellations we don’t yet recognize, the way fire consumes but also creates. Change is in the way we close our eyes at night, knowing the world will look slightly different in the morning. It is the poetry of becoming, the ache of unknowing, the wonder of what comes next.
And so we step forward, hearts filled with both loss and longing, ready or not. Because change waits for no one. Because life does not stand still. And because, in the end, what scares us most may be the very thing that saves us.