Being home is a time warp where everything but me has moved. Old friends recognize my physical aging, but neglect the possibility of an internal shift. No matter whether I’ve changed or not, they see me preserved as I was. 

They can’t help but pick up from where they last left me. I can’t help but see the old them. How difficult it is to accept someone with fresh eyes. What else to believe but what is known to be true? 

If life is determined by what I am in this moment, how is it that my truths are constantly being rewritten. 

Below are photos of friends sleeping in on New Year’s morning. Frozen in time, I pretend that we aren’t growing up.