Revolver.

You can take the title on in many ways - a gun, a door, or the eventual cycle of people re-entering your sphere. To me, this word holds such profound importance. The way life comes full circle.

I feel as though shapes are a significant representation of life's matters - the way a circle never ends and never truly has a beginning, the way three points meet at a triangle ( never truly allowing all points connect fully ), the way a square represents a box ( full of ideas or the visualisation of a cage to be escaped from ).

The way we view life and its patterns, slowly develops through our recognition from experiences. I find that whenever you look too deeply into someone's eyes, the journey feels it was from a past life - never truly ending or knowing where it began. The way that when three people connect, you never truly see the same point of view with each person, but rather differing points with particular individuals. A room to be filled with all your new possessions, memories and breaths, to then being a prison for all that you want to forget and escape from.

I feel as though we always know how something will end. We see the signs and ignore them for the feeling of the moment, or allow patterns to repeat - in hopes that a different outcome will open in the next chapter of a book we have already read. I think that cycles of repetition only ever produce growth - whether that be in strength, or as a scar that thickens and never truly fades.

The beauty of the human conscious - never exactly the same for any being on this earth. The special ability to shape your world and build it as you find your destined pieces.

People come and go - memories always stay. Ironic that when our brain ages and we begin to forget; we start off wishing that those cycles we lived before, would repeat again. To be elderly and remembering our first time meeting the love of our lives, that then broke our hearts - wishing to feel that thrill one more time before the close of our eyes.

We say goodbye too easily. I understand now that the most painful moments in my life, were some I wish cherished more for the joy of the rush - the journey of getting to know myself. The circle that never stopped rotating - growing me into who I am. The triangle of lovers ones - that met me at different places, I never knew I would reach - and never could have alone. The squares I have lived in and the squares I have left behind.

For all this growing, slowly erodes at the level of surprise that you feel. The first taste of anything ; new. Spiralling into maturity, we find ourselves sitting on our parents living room floor, asking what a rhombus was called. Before we knew the shapes. Before the shapes had a name. Before they meant anything at all.

But do we ever stop asking?