Change

Change.
That sneaky little friend.
You wait for it,
Without patience,
Like a child waiting for Christmas.
And it seems to never come.
But when it does,
It is everything but Christmas.
It is more like shedding your own skin.
Slowly,
Painfully,
Bit by bit.
Parts of you are being ripped off
To be forever lost
And you like it.
You've waited for it so long,
Yet you hate it.
Every bit.
It hurts,
Losing parts of you.
It hurts,
Even though you feel the new parts coming it,
Slowly digging their way in,
Into your skin.
The process is long.
It is sad.
It is painful,
And it is necessary.
Once the last bit of your old skin sheds,
You are a new person,
And it is then that the real change begins.