What came to me later in those dark, dreaming hours put paid to that though and as always my mind led me treacherously back to the bleak and inescapable truth. When I could almost feel normal, as if I had never left this grand old place and things had never had to change. Some days were good days, when I could lie to myself that things would be okay. Your world, my world it made no difference, the past was a story you could tell however you liked, but never change. Lessons learnt the hard way, the bad way that never faded, images that stuck in your mind but it might as well have been your throat the way they rose up and choked you.
Some things you could not run away from, some troubles too deep. Still it made no difference in the end though, either way. That had been the dream all along, dying at last with my mother. The house was still there all right, but not the home. The trees down the drive just a little bit taller, thicker. The house was still there, the rooms barely changed. My strength, my salvation.Īs always I got it all so hopelessly wrong.
I could go on, no matter what as long as it was there waiting for me. Home had been for the longest time a vision in my head, one of simple goodness, proof against everything that went to bad and then worse. Back to when things made sense, when badness was just an idea, a nightmare dispelled with the coming dawn. "I had come back to the place I started from, back to the memory of when things were bright and the future stretched before me like some great and glorious adventure.
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