246

It is not the new path this time

but the matching driveway

fresh concrete paved over

decade old memories

And those damn numbers

crooked wooden burgundy reminders

of where you began

and wouldn’t end

They aren’t there anymore

hanging from the peeling blue siding

234 is scrawled in white paint on

a black box atop a wooden post.

I’m sure it holds letters

for the new owners

but never any from me to you

I never wrote you letters

because we never had to

you were always there

and I here

all those years ago.

But I’m still here—

There is a fresh coat of paint

in all nine rooms

a new patio set

that is no longer sage green

and I’ve got two more years

of finding myself in this big world.

So, I decided to fill you in on me

instead of waiting for you to inquire

I couldn’t ask you

to return home to a foreign place

until you’re ready

because I wouldn’t do the same

if it was me.

This is my better-late-than-never letter

I hope you’ll one day see this

and take the time to read it

It is not a physical return

but it is all the same.

-for Holly, again