It was, in a sense, an end of innocence. A severing of admittedly tenuous ties; a snapping of invisible threads. When the threads are invisible to start with, how do you even know when they break? He didn't know. All he knew was something had changed. And now everything was different. 

In some ways, it felt like an implacable darkness had descended. In other ways, like a door had been left open (either by accident or design), and through that door, a shaft of light had shot in like an iridescent arrow. He couldn't quite make out the source of the light, but it illuminated the room in a glow that was both warm and chilling at the same time. Thoughts long suspected but never quite articulated; barely discernible, shape-shifting shadows, these had now emerged into sharp focus. Truth, like light, can never be contained for too long. 

Now that he had seen it, he could not unsee it, could not un-know it. He wondered whether it would have been preferable to not have known (what you don't know can't hurt you), but surely this sort of reasoning was for the intellectually stunted- people who willingly chose ignorance, the ones that shunned the light and preferred to make their way through life in a comfortable cocoon of oblivion; never quite making it out, never evolving, never sprouting wings and taking flight. 

But he didn't seek it out, either, this thing. It came looking for him, an unwelcome intruder into an otherwise thoroughly unremarkable existence. It angered him, the casual impunity with which it arrived, without as much as a heads-up. But what really infuriated him was that it now demanded a response. It was like being dragged out of bed and placed in front of a chessboard, with your opponent having just made a move. Your turn, he says smugly, fingers tapping the table in a mixture of impatience and perverse glee. Tap, tap, tap... what's your move? Tap, tap, tap... you rub your eyes and hope it's a dream but it's not. This time it's for real. Tap, tap, tap... 

For a while, he stands there- quietly surveying the newly-altered landscape of his adulthood. Change (of the capital 'C' variety), so often something he ran away from, actively tried to avoid, had now arrived at his front door. Not just for a brief visit, but- judging by the amount of baggage it brought along- to take up permanent residence. He could refuse to let it in, but of course that wouldn't mean it would go away. Having it stand by the door, with you looking at it through the keyhole, is the same as having it in your living room. For a few heart-wrenching moments, he glimpses the future and simultaneously longs for the past. 

He walks out into the street, seeking solace amidst strangers. He looks at the things that didn't seem to change- the streetlight with the dent in its side, the man behind the Sri Lankan takeaway counter. He wants to believe that some things could stay the same, defiantly repelling alteration. Tears start to stream down his face as he walks down the road into the setting sun. 

And what do you do, when the people you love let you down? What do you do, when the things you took for granted, the things you considered sacred, are now soiled with the dirt of human frailty? What do you do when you're dragged to the chessboard; when you're faced with Change knocking incessantly at your door? What do you do? 

You cling to Him. 
You cling to Him with everything you have, until your knuckles go white, and the blood drains from your face. 
You cling to Him because the alternative is to drop like a stone into the abyss. 
You cling to Him, because you don't have the answers; you don't even understand the questions. 
You cling to Him because it is quite simply the only thing you can do. 

And what happens then? 
He reaches down, He lifts you up, and He takes you home.