I drove past my childhood home today. It’s been over 27 years since I lived there. It felt strange parking up outside. My Father died in this house.
I drove up and down the road but didn’t know where to park, I don’t belong anymore. It’s all different, not just our old house, everything. Maybe I’m just a different person. I’m glad I went back but I doubt I will again. Some things are better left in the past.