Coming Home

People come home for a lot of reasons. They come home to remember something. They come home because they’ve got no place else to go. They come home when they’ve beaten or when they’re proud. And some people come home begging for a door in into their past or just to say goodbye. But for me, I always come home to be alone, and wondering things that should or shouldn’t have been happened. There’re lots of things that had happened to me these years, and I know I’m not the same person I used to be anymore. I’ve changed. And now I’m wondering ‘bout the things that might have changed too along the way. But the part that bothers me is not the things that have changed, but the way everything is stayed the same. It’s like when you go to somewhere so far away and then come back to see things goes like the way before you’ve left the town. People changed, but actually they don’t. They just fit in. Things goes how it goes, doesn’t change a bit. All of those might be the same. But I am different. And then nothing would be the same at all.