You Can Never Go Back

It isn't that he has stopped growing up. It is just he has now grown distant from this place.

This is where he went to elementary school. And high school too. He learned to drive on these streets. Everyday, in a large white car from the 70s, he drove back and forth to school. He never knew such nostalgic value the 1976 Grand LeMans - complete with an 8 track AM radio, valeur seats, and two heavy four foot long doors - would have for him ten years later. Retrospect affords useless insight.

This is no longer his home. He has grown not up, but away.
(Do distances matter when growing? Does it matter if we grow up or away from? No matter what, growth means distance.)
He had grown not up, but way. Away from here. Away from home.

He lives far away from here now. He no longer needs an old out-dated car to drive him back and forth. He has moved on. Now subways, trains, and airplanes move him from place to place.

He is here but he can't come home. Home is never just a place - but a relationship between a person and a place. And he has changed.

Time only seems cruel if we look back at the past.

But here, it is hard for him to look ahead.