Salt Line

I lived for the fullest,

for you, who wanted me to walk the Eugene streets —

Owen’s rose garden watching

as I faced two distant doors:

return home,

or live a life of hope.

I didn’t want to return.

But I had to.

New York —

you never set me free.

Only another excuse to feel “free.”

I walked until my feet

felt like rubber,

burning under Oregon’s sun.

I dreamed of finding you.

But you were never there.

You left me in 2013.

At 14,

and again at 19,

I tried to find you.

You told me:

No matter where life takes us,

we will find a way back to each other.

Did you mean it?