Write. Write. Sentences becomes paragraphs, paragraphs turns ‘to pages. Nothing stay the same. Time changes new pages. But I keep moving forward, writing until my hand bleed. Only time I look back is to re-read my past. To re-visit that spot, never to stay. My emotions aren’t the same they’re just words in the past that I’ve felt. So what about my emotions? Same as the words, changes as the time goes by. Changes as a new chapter is revealed. So do my feelings for you stay the same in one spot? With no movement? That’s a question you have to ask yourself, not me.