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It took only a few months before I decided to fly to you. It was a chilly, rainy afternoon in October. The cab driver told me all about the Ducks. I made up a story about a long lost love I was reuniting with. A boy flew down the stairs and kissed me all over my face until I blushed. I whispered my lie into his ear and he spun around to confirm it and added his own twist. He paid the driver $12 with a glowing smile.
Over the next year you watched us trade poor jokes at Flying Dog, read to each other on the bus, make out in the leaves, throw coins into violin cases. You laughed when the pizza boy interrupted us the first time we had sex. You fogged up the streets the night we dropped acid and walked three miles to eat pancakes. We left the windows open to hear your trains sing us to sleep. You snowed once, for me. And poured a hundred times for no one.
I can still smell nag champa on my sleeves, taste your clean air, feel the Willamette rushing under me. Eugene, you had the most ravishing sunrise, the freest citizens and, might I add, the best transit on the west coast. You're the most handsome city I've ever had. And I swear I'll never love another one better.
I miss you, Eugene. I miss him, too.
The Saddest Girl on the Atlantic
- Location: East Coast
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