It’s a strange feeling, it truly is. To look outside and see the sun and hear the birds and breathe in the fresh air. The time is now, if anything, to change. To get better. So why does it feel like it isn’t? How come I am not like the birds who change and adapt? How come I am not like the flowers who after being dormant for so long, awake again? Why am I not like the sun who has been afraid to show, but peeks out from behind the clouds anyway? Why is everything changing but I am not within myself? I wish they would share their secrets. Who tells the birds to fly back home, the flowers to start blooming, the sun to shine once more? Who will tell me? To wake up, to participate, to live? Maybe I am not like a bird, or a flower, or the sun. Maybe I am not like them at all. I do not have someone to tell me when to get better, or where to go, or how to be. As they do these things in unison, I am left trying to understand why they do it, and why can’t I? They seem to be moving on so quickly as if they weren’t gone for six months; as if nothing’s changed. But everything has changed. The birds are not the same as they were last season, the flowers are older and aged, and the sun feels a little less warm. But yet, they continue on. Just the same. Maybe I’m not like them, but I wish I was. I want to change with the seasons rather than stay in this eternal misery of my mind.