I Am Trying To Accept The Things I Cannot Change

It's easy to see a place that I once called home, a place that was full of love, a place that housed memories which for good or bad defined me. When I look back it gives me the urge to want to return and never leave. Yet I easily forget the moments where this place I think so fondly of was a source of my undoing. A place that I felt I needed to escape from as fast as possible. Why do moments that make up such a small fraction of the past give it such an aura of safety and warmth? Perhaps it's the fear of the approaching storm that I'm starting to see in the distance.