They say you can’t go home again and I’m not sure why! We bought my childhood home from my parents and lived there with our family for eleven years. I stopped there last week when I was in the neighborhood to look for cuttings from a lilac bush. Unfortunately the bushes had been torn out, but it was fun to visit the premises and meet the latest owner.
Why do you think there’s a saying, “You can’t go home again”? Is it because you’re not the same person you were growing up there? Bad memories? Needing to put the past behind you? Hmm . . .
This week’s writing prompt: He stood on the sidewalk facing his past, the home he’d grown up in. The wind stung his cheeks, even as the windows glistened in the sunshine. Walking up the path to the house he decided . . .
|My childhood home, but the beautiful canyon stone and brick were|
painted over by the next owner.