The only constant is change

Do you ever get this aching feeling of nostalgia when you look back at old photos?

Months, years and everything changes. You probably remember almost a year ago, you were experiencing heartache.

Three months ago, your head was among the clouds, you were on cloud nine. Four weeks ago, your emotions were tumultuous and seven hours ago, you were, well, you can't quite remember.

Memories only appear in the form of flashbacks, reminders, long forgotten smells, words, places, people. Memories, often captured as photos, film, dialogues. As thoughts, the timbre of a voice and a book.

But more often than not, the most intangible, yet deeply instilled, is the 'mood' of that moment, those few months before it changes yet again to a different climate, a separate atmosphere.

That ethos, when gone, is gone forever. Those words, those smells, the silhouettes that dance around you, the way you dress, walk, talk...are only constant in that short moment.

The thoughts you had, your mentality, your maturity, the way you approached matters, the way you spoke to strangers, your handwriting, your touch, your gaze..all change as time passes by.

And then you forget. You forget the words, smell, familiarity. You forget the food, places, names and faces. You forget because sometimes it's the only thing left for you to do. You forget because you drag your brush across the easel till the ink runs out and you've got none left to continue painting.

They say the only constant is change...change is the only circumstance that is constant, consistent, unceasing. In a matter of months, we've ran so fast, we fell, picked ourselves up and continued running to an invisible finishing line. I think I've figured how that finishing line would appear to me.

Memories are a reminder that nothing changes except change itself. And if I could sear that mood, that climate, that ethos into the depths of my heart, I would. But I'd rather not. I'd rather forget the atmosphere of a once cherished moment, that unbearable lightness. Forgetting is a blessing...

Because sometimes we refuse to slow down and turn around to see whom or what we left behind...