No, I may not return. Can't? Won't? Ever? Yes, that's destiny, self-scripted/inflicted. Had I known or written the script, contemplated the end of the road less travelled? Had I, ever? Past is not a place to revisit in bodily form. Past is not a phase to re-live and change. Past is not a page to rewrite: rich and strange. Past is past; the slippery sand that slips dryly from between the fingers, is lost, is gone irretrievably. Has happened irreversibly. It does make you first, and then un-make. What time gives first, it has its ways to take. So, years of careless days were baits to be happily swallowed, fast, greedily, unmindful of the cost.