Thank God for the Texas wind. It dried my tears as quickly as they'd trickle down my cheeks. You can do this, it whispered, as it… violently brushed my face. I mean, really, there is nothing gentle about Texas, but it’ll make you fall in love with it anyway. In all of its wonderfully unapologetic glory.
The sky is big. The trucks seem bigger. The road construction never ends. It’s just a lie they tell you when they say it will. I don’t smell the salty air or feel the sea breeze anymore. I don’t see turquoise or slate-colored waves or hear seals barking in the distance. I have allergies now. But I also have the coo of a mourning dove outside of my office window. I have long, open roads and trees that bloom white, and fields of bluebonnets. I have “yes, sir’s” and “no, ma’am’s”, and doors held open.
But it’s a long way from California, that’s for sure.
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