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  • Gaia Saravan

Moments of Change

i. 2012

I’m sitting at the dining table. My feet don’t touch the floor. 

Visions of suburbia seep into my mind with regret, 

far too young to revel in feelings of the old. 

With digital dreams in alternative synth, the pavement tips over. 

That was recess time. Double Dutch and scraped knees. 

Back when I had one good thing during

the halcyon days of my childhood, the fourth

dimension opened up: magma, bright, 

and truly incomprehensible.

ii. 2020

I want to show you: the jingle of my keys

and the frail cold air. Winters are colder. My vision is not saturated. 

The merry-go-round is a soundtrack to an ever-impending doom. 

I can’t even say it’s hyperreal. These are filler years - I can just tell. 

iii. 2024

Warm oatmeal. Warm room. Warm bath.

Something feels more whole about these days - I am of body again. 

Both 8 and 18, colors in my sight and all.

Academics excite me: something about specialization.

Adolescence had me fearing judgment. 

Now I don’t acknowledge anything! 

And I was mistaken. These are the real halcyon days. They will be, at least. 

What I mean is simple. 


Art by Randy Choi


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