My nightmares as a child had no echoes of falling or screams of teeth falling out;

they held demons with the face of change and hands to pick me up and move me while all I could do was lay limp.

I had such a deep rooted fear of losing everything I knew

of being dropped in the middle of the Pacific with no land in sight

that it became almost paralyzing.

I spent years begging for complacency,

for something to hold me tight and steady to the moving ground

but now,

change is all I crave.

I begin to itch if I find myself in the same town for too long or surrounded by the same voices for too many months.

I can’t survive without drasticity, without a revolving door of  life altering movements.

Maybe it’s because somewhere along the line,

the constant changes in my life became so overwhelming that I thought I needed to make some of my own

that maybe then,

I could have something to hold onto.

Maybe it’s because my indecisive nature has turned this ever-changing chaos into a self identity,

a way to assure myself that I know at least one certain thing,

even if that one thing will be gone in the morning.

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