Dear Atlanta

You’re so far way, too far away. Come back. I’m not finished, it can’t end like this.

Why am I striking one accord to what’s not on paper? I never set out for it to be like this.

This was never supposed to be a poem. I had to think of something, but it was forced because I had to think. When there was no shadow of doubt, I stopped myself.

I had a Vanilla Bean Creme Frappuccino.

His voice was calming.

I told him.

To his face.

We spoke for hours.

I bet he thinks I say that to all the guys…

My worst nightmare, then, was to marry someone I didn’t love.

Dear Atlanta, you’ve been more than out of convenience.  Dear Atlanta, don’t take this the wrong way.

I had a whole piece written for him and it was a lot worse. In good taste, but he just did it for me, then. He’ll get it, probably.

It’ll be for my eyes only if not.

You would have never understood should you read this one day. You would have taken it personal and smiled but missed it. Smile, and feel yourself to the point of awkwardness that I just can’t afford to feel, when I write. Still I’d look at you and think awww, bless.

Tomorrow I’ll look back and say why…no…

But freedom is beautiful.

Dear Atlanta…