New

I feel as if I always want something new, and once I get it, I realize all I really wanted were for my old things to return bringing with them the cozy age that eases the mind and relaxes the soul.

I feel as if when I rub my sleepy eyes, once my hand leaves my lid that when I see light again it will be different. There will be change, there will be more vibrant color, a more pungent stench of life. But that newness has yet to be discovered in my particular sight.

I feel as if my desire for newness, is really the deepest crevice of my heart yearning for the old, the worn, the used, the tired, the usual. That this delicious treat of something fresh is far outweighed by the comfort and experience of the already been done.

I feel as if nothing is new anymore. I feel a sense of whimsy in this realization. That nothing is ever new, just reborn, renewed, revamped, restructured, rediscovered, recaptured and readored.

I feel as if the newness I desire, is a longing to reorder my own new and old. My own thoughts are being calmed by the reality found in the solidity of time and age.