My Prison

I always hate coming home. It makes it hard to put the past behind me. Too many reminders of Dad, my mom's constant flow of stories. Its like a past life, like someone else's life. I try to forget how much i miss him, but now being stuck here i have no choice but to remember him, remember this house. I've kind of been running from this place for the past couple of years, finding as many things i could to stay busy. It reflects back on me. What I've done with my life in the past 2 1/2 years since he died, and if he'd be disappointed in the choices i've made. There isn't an escape, no distractions, just home and my thoughts.