Being back here

Makes me wish that I wasn't.

It makes me wish

That I had stayed at home,

Where it was safe.

Being back,

Reminds me of the things

That I did / didn't do;

I should / shouldn't have done,

The things that never were said.

Being back

It's just prolonging the inevitable,

Sitting in an empty room,

With no-one for company

Except the ghosts.

Being back,

Amongst the shadows and the sunlight,

Grasping nothing but

The memory of you,

Tells me that this is not

What I want to hold on to.

Being back,

Is now maybe

All that I will need,

To push me to go onwards,

Away from here.