I took flight at 3am, my hands and body shaking with fear and uncertaintey,as they had been for some time. I picked up my rucksack, feeling uncertain for it’s contents, that when I reached my secret destination, that I might not find clothes, lipstick and pajamas, that I might find all of the mementos of you that I had accidentally packed the night I ran away from home to go home and attempt to heal my broken soul, to the place, the home I once knew of a world that existed before you were a part of it, before you died and decimated my heart.
No one wanted me to make this journey, so to most, I kept it a secret, and I drove like a whirling dervish away from the excruciating pain I couldn’t compartmentalize. I set the music on shuffle, and as the hours ticked by, they only further solidified that I was on the correct journey. As I beared witness to the first lightning storm that held no thunder, during drenching downpours, I shook with fear, my hands trembling upon the steering wheel, yet in this time, I felt strength gathering. I knew I was on the correct path, to go to where you had not yet been a part of my life, as frightening trucks sprayed rain upon me and my tires shook harder than my hands, I knew this to be true.
Cosmic and appropriate tunes were my guide north, and they served me well. As day break came upon me, I found familiar ground, I knew this path, a strange comfort after all of these dusty years. I found my way to the waters edge, as we always had before, and I found the strength to throw my pack over my shoulder, book passage to what was once my home, before I had known your glorious love, and sit tight, despite my weary jitters, and finally give in.
So few knew where, or why, I wasn’t back home, and the few who did, I prayed deeply that they understood, that they could not mend this wound, and perhaps, I might never myself, but I had to attempt. You gave me so much, how could I not do so in your honor?
I rode the ferry, cloaked in songs of strength and hope, I hadn’t the slightest clue what could possibly await me. All I hoped for was the tiniest mend of the enormous hole your death left. To perhaps find the wonderment and hope this home once held. And as so may of your soul shaking gifts had presented the 17 years you gave to me, with love, you showed me something far more reaching, a healing I had never dared to hope or speak.
Thank you Ian Long, our dear love brought a multitude of love, closure, and hope in your passing, and you procured the greatest lesson, that in fact, you can go home again.

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