The places you've come to hate the most

"Each town it seems the same, my dear." - Pilate

 

When a place grows sour,
You can recognise the same car driving past your house at midnight, without looking out the window.
You run out of things to talk about with the friends you go out with every night.
You step into a posher restaurant because street stall cuisines have grown stale on your tongue.
And everything is not enough.

When a place grows sour,
You look for a better place.
A greener grass.
A prettier day.
A quieter house.
Another town.
Not this town.

When a place grows sour,
You wish you had never left the place you once grew to loathe.
You start missing the midnight car.
You start missing the friends you had so much to talk about that one day you just ran out of things to talk about.
You start missing the stalls serving unhygienic food that made you bound to the toilet for hours.
Days.

When a place grows sour,
And you have made plans to find a sweeter abode,
Something will happen and make you want to stay in the same sodding place.
Even though you have spent years lamenting its short comings.
You got a promotion with a better salary.
You got better political stance.
You found the person you thought you should find on the other side.
Shit.
Now what.

When a place grows sour,
It happens when you step foot on new grounds.
Because the promised land you promised yourself a better life with, is a broken one.
A place will always be sour.
Near or far.
Looking forward or behind.
Because whenever you are ready to say goodbye, you would wish you never had to say hello.
Because whenever you are ready to leave, you would have one more reason to make you stay.
Then only you would realise when it is too late that all along it has been enough.