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?


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