Changing

THERE WILL always be lonely in change.

Change is memory you get from old quizzes, informal themes, and love letters stocked inside a long-ago box. It is your old home, the one you no longer live, but still remember every inch of its space - the wooded floor, the dilapidated kitchen ware, the number of gaping holes in your former room. It is your old beloved pair of leather shoes you wore in your JS Prom, the one you no longer wear, but remember how it felt when your feet were still inside of it.

I remember my last day in high school, we were passing folders where we could write farewell letters to each and everyone. One female classmate wrote me a long one with a last note that says: Don't you dare forget me. Love lots, J.

We met again four years past inside a cab. We were exchanging glances, wondering if we're going to greet or pretend we didn't know each other. I had forgotten her name. I moved out of the cab not greeting her. That was the last time I saw her.

I wonder if the faces I constantly meet today I'd forget their names in the future. Because things change, people change.