I've always thought so too. It is a strange thing to think about not climbing the steps up to her apartment - the scent of sandalwood and paintings of nimbus clouds. The coffee plant that was once so fragile has outgrown its space.. And maybe us too.
The leaves that surround her tiny balcony in the summertime have all fallen from the branches. You can hear the trains in the winter. The prayer flags tattered and faded.. Now have character. The walls are covered in the stories of the past few years. Letters, maps, poetry, sadness, joy.
I come up here to grow sideways.. to practice my synonyms.
I come up here to listen to music and to perfect my smile.
Truth starts over mid-sentence.. even while we're still speaking, we begin to see things differently. Not because we choose to, but because we want to. Always be growing. Recreating.
I admire that about her. To see the world as it is.. you must always be changing too.