Back to childhood

I realize that everything I'm doing right now, scanning old photos, listening to my oldest compositions, starting to draw again with pencil or felt pen like a kid, is just the acceleration, the even more insistent accentuation of this process of regression, Probably to the point where I would have forgotten that one day I was twenty years old, with life ahead of me, and I had this feeling that the bad memories of adolescence, all the hatred of jerks, frustration and the feeling of being imprisoned, would cease with the beginning of real life. There's a part of me that wants to forget that, yes, because it's over. Back to childhood, to my old town, to the comfortable little cage, to intellectual limitations, to unshakeable moral certainties, to restful stupidity.