I saw a version of you on a cave tour in South Dakota. Middle-aged. Three kids, all with your red hair. A husband with a circle beard. An accent from a place you would have stayed closeted. While ascending 300 steps from our tour’s destination, you joked about not needing a Stairmaster if you just lived above a cave. I saw a version of you in a national park gift shop. Late-twenties. Round, thin-rimmed glasses. Two older people with you, maybe members of your extended family or the people who took you in. A purple dress with neon-green bats indicative of a family that let you be different. I saw a version of you at an overlook above some badlands. You were with a photographer, a graduation photoshoot. A shirt from an 80s band under a cardigan two sizes too big. A dandelion twirled between your fingers. You looked like you. You looked happy.