i had an epiphany after my dad died and it was basically that i didn't want to die without oregon. or rather, i didn't want to live without oregon. or without whatever my oregon was. it was his oregon. i think it's my washington or california or maybe oregon but that's not the point. my oregon is a lot of things: midwifery, a real garden, a brand new person i know nothing about. and maybe that shouldn't be on the list, the person. but i want it. i want it. it's on the list. i want to look for bugs in the woods.
it wasn't a particularly original epiphany or anything, but i had it before i had you.
"never worked so long and hard to cement a failure" that's the line.
i just realized that i'm still me. the songs are mine and the words belonged to me and the pictures too. and it's all still mine because i'm still me. it's just that i don't know what to do with the memory of the sunlight and the gazebo and something i never had. those things were always just mine. i mean, that was the problem.