We move on, we move out, we move away from our families and form our own.
But the basic insecurities, the basic fears and all those old wounds just grow up with us.
And just when we think that life and circumstances have forced us truly, once and for all become an adult, your mother says something like that. Or worse, something like that.
We get bigger, we get taller, we get older.
But, for the most part, we're still a bunch of kids, running around the playground, trying desperately to fit in.
I've heard that it's possible to grow up, I've just never met anyone who's actually done it.
Without parents to defy, we break the rules we make for ourselves. We throw tantrums when things don't go our way. We whisper secrets with our best friend, in the dark. We look for comfort where we can find it.
And we hope against all logic, against all experience, like children, we never give up hope.
