I’ve put my soul in a box and sent it West.

Past the magnificent Appalachian forests.

Across the great rolling Midwest plains.

Over the vast towering Rockies.

Through the bone dry deserts of the Southwest.

All tethered up in twine, wrapped a thousand layers thick, the thing’s given me more than I’ve deserved, so I’m sending it back.

Perhaps an old friend down in Ely will happen upon it and nurse it back to health. I’ve always dreamed it would find its way back to Steptoe or the White Pine fields. Perhaps they’ll take it to Sacred Heart, that I might find salvation where I was first cleansed.

From our first kiss at 1205 to my first regret at the end of Bell. From our night at the racetrack to Chelsea City Hall, you follow me. So I shall return to Wheeler Peak, or to Stella Lake, that we may be together once more.

A soul returned to the basin.

A soul less to forgive.