Monotony is not a thing.

Listening to one song repeatedly, multiplies the enjoyment of each word, each melody. When I wear it out like a ragged, over-bleached piece of linen, I become a victim of a little thing we like to call monotony. But when I listen to the same after three long and quick years, the song does not remain the same. Every word, every riff, every fragment of that worn-torn linen comes back fine and recycled. I iron the cloth with a different meaning and continue to enjoy the task all over again.

 I can assure you the man I saw yesterday was a different man today and I can tell you that these eyes do not see as they did the day before. Even these walls and windows do not stand the same as yesterday. It cannot be, but there are times when we choose to neglect and overlook these differences.  

 My dear readers, monotony does not exist. Words may be engraved but to read, hear and feel is a matter of our very own choice. In the gap of three years, these eyes saw much of the incomprehensible, heard a little of the unutterable and touched a bit of what used to be intangible. I cannot tell how because neither you nor I are willing to devote so many minutes to this crippling machine. I can assure you that you change every day and when these days turn to years these changes slip into the garb of maturity. We may not be able to calculate these transformations unless they devise some calculator of the many incalculable stream of words that ripple through us every moment. But to receive these changes with pangs of pain or joy is within our grip. We may choose to master our response to every bit of our life and no one but ourselves exercise the power to become the sort of men we want to be.