changing things (a year later)

it's small things, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings, that will be my undoing.

i like earthquakes, whirlwinds, hurricanes and storms. they are predictable and larger than life. i know that if they hit me i wont be able to get up for a while. i know that i can expect a huge dramatic change. i can prepare for that.

i struggle to deal with slight tremors and persistent drizzles. they are like tiny larvae eating away at a leafy tree. they seem so small, so insignificant. but, given time, they turn out to be as dreadful as the storm. the major difference is that i won't notice them immediately. the tremors continue to shake foundations and the drizzle continues to hit the rock. one day, some day, the foundations suddenly give way and the rock splits. no matter how hard i try, i can never predict this. i can never prepare for it. 

a year later, i am forced to admit the power of slight changes. i look for larger-than-life signs. i look for great winds and pursue the brightest stars only to find that my end comes through a gentle breeze and a lazy glow. a year later, i must admit that the most damage came from the most surprising sources. i was slipping so slowly i didn't notice until it was too late. i was half-way to the floor. 

a year later, the greatest pains arose from the shortest conversations. there were months of dreaming then mere minutes later hope was gone. it happened so cleverly. i had trusted. i had believed. i had hoped. 

a year later and i still don't know how to steady myself against changing things. i should know better by now.