my home town

i can’t explain the guilt of growing up. getting a job in a different town. finding a girlfriend who lives in a different town. knowing my mum struggles more than i could have ever dreamed of when i was a kid. when i shut my front door and put my keys in the ignition, i reach the roundabout and i join onto the bridge. the bridge that was once so bitter, now so bittersweet. i leave behind my sister, she won’t be 17 forever. i leave my mum alone. i leave my little brother and sister. they won’t be little forever. i feel guilty for the relief of driving away. i come back, every time. but there will be a day where i don’t. growing up is a lot like slowly losing faith. i don’t believe in santa anymore, i don’t believe in god. i don’t believe in my father either. i sat at my back door writing this, smoking a cigarette. there was no wind. everything was still. i was listening to my favourite song about growing up; i’m emotional today. it talked about leaving home and the back door swung open. no wind. no gust. everything is still. i think it was a sign that i’m allowed to leave. but i think part of me will always be imbedded in these walls. i so desperately want to leave, but i fear my home town will never leave me.