like water cascading down a cliff.
Innocence and bravery,
a child's dream.
Familiar faces,
so distant, yet always present.
The paraphernalia,
of a burdened mind.
The valley is blooming,
singing praises of youth
and childhood happiness,
why am I unable to partake in this celebration?
Unhappy moments come reeling back.
Remind me of my despair and suffering.
Why now, as I prepare myself
to leave a part of my soul?
I withdraw
my tentacles that have taken root deep.
Seven long years of experiences,
being lodged forever in my brain.
I am detached,
of the place I love so much.
My home, my self, my refuge,
all a repository of memories.
I am not alone!
Wrote this when I was leaving school, more than two years ago. And now Im going back to visit. Will I "partake in the celebration" this time round?
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