Dear Boy,
If we are not in Texas, I don’t know where we are.
All of the license plates speed by so fast I can’t get a great look at them,
So I suppose you could be right.
But all of my souvenirs and the peeling sunburn on the back of my neck tell me we have been quietly touring Texas with each other for a long while now.
The mail has already come, or I would steal the contents of somebody’s letterbox to check the address on each envelope, just to be sure.
You say in a few months we cannot be in Texas because you will be somewhere else much greener and more beautiful than my eyes (like Ireland or Scotland)
But I think you underestimate the power Texas has to allow you to be in two places at once.
I know such things are impossible,
Trust me, I’ve pulled out so many maps and globes (trying to make it more a matter of geography than history or chemistry)
And it defies all logic.
But how else could it be that I once found myself in Texas with you at the exact moment you found yourself not in Texas with me?
Inexplicable, such a thing is.
Explain it, if you please.
Explain why we cannot be in Texas while you are away.
You will find me under our favorite umbrella
somewhere in the lone star state you’d never be able to pinpoint on a map)
Until you admit that we are totally and completely in Texas,
That Texas is what you find with me. (as much as you wish you didn’t)
And, (most importantly)
That someday you plan on making Texas (with me of course),
for that is the only thing that requires you to be all in one place at the right time.
The other definitions, my Texas, have no boundaries.
I’ll be waiting.
Texas,
Girl