I’m leaving, and I can’t come back.

I’m leaving these roads and trees and this sky

This school, and these friends, and these memories

This home, this room, this night, this life to start a new one.

I can’t come back. If I return, nothing will have changed, but everything will have. I’ll be a visitor of my past- a tourist, seeing the sights, straight down through the years, down to the frame of the foundation of my life until late.

I’ve left, and I would give it all to return, but I would feel my change rubbing against the hole I left, and know I should’ve never looked back.