Homesickness

When I was a child, nostalgia was like a small stamp. I was on this side and my mother was on the other side. When I grow up, homesickness is like a narrow ticket, with me on this end and the bride on the other. Later, homesickness was like a short grave. I was outside and my mother was inside. But now, homesickness is like a shallow strait, with me at this end and the mainland at the other end.