So many times,
again and again,
in a constant cycle,
I am back to where I started.
It appears somewhat different,
only subtle nuances make it distinguishable,
yet like all living things,
we are the same despite our individuality.
I walk in a straight line to return to where I started,
thwarted by my inability to progress,
despite the evidence suggesting otherwise,
it is a welcome suspension of disbelief.
How things change to stay the same,
like returning home from a holiday,
all that was once familiar is now foreign
and we spot things we were once blinded to.
I live as I age,
no ending to what felt like a beginning,
so many times I’ll be back,
to tell my tale again.