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    Theory, Travel

    You can’t go home again

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    I boarded a train taking me back to a place I called home for three years.  I’d visited Lancaster a handful of times in the last twelve years, and each time it felt different – I felt different.

    The first time I went back was a couple of months after packing up my life there.  Boarding the bus I’d caught so many times before, staying at a friend’s house I’d spent many an evening in, laughing and drinking tea…I felt like a ghost, shadowing through the place that so many memories.

    Going back again twelve years later felt just as strange.

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