The farthest I'd ever been from home on my own when I was twenty was Kansas City. And, maybe I regret driving up I-35 to see you last October. Omaha was binding, but Lincoln sounded worse, and I don't blame you for taking off to Minnesota. I hope you don't come back. At least, not yet. Not until I've figured out who I am without you. My list of accomplishments isn't long enough for when I see you again. I wish I had something to show for all this time I spent alone.
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