Not to sound like a cynic, but every time I come back home I am disappointed. In some way or another. The water wasn't as warm as it used to be. The nights aren't as long or as devious. Unsure if its just a case of the grass is always greener or everything is better in memory but whatever. Figures my time is better off spent mothering my neglected blog than yawning in the newly renovated sleazy pub, waiting for something to happen. Thats the problem with going home. You expect everything to change and it doesn't. You feel disconnected. Then it does change. And its like, fuck. I am not this person anymore. BUT WHATEVER. I don't know how these pictures are relevant but I enjoy them. They are from the Selby, of course, and honestly, I just like to look at them.
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