This morning,
     Atlanta’s skies opened up,
     a gentle soaking
     sliding off rooftops,
     pooling in forgotten places,
     tapping softly on windshields,
     whispering patience…

     one drop at a time.

Meanwhile—
     back in Fort Worth
     and up in St. Louis,
     tornadoes spun stories through neighborhoods
     that know our names,

     swirling chaos in places we’ve both called home.

All our people—safe.
    Just a little shaken,
    nerves stretched thin,
    conversations cut short,

    life rearranged by the winds we can’t control.

Funny how distance doesn’t matter
      when storms connect the dots,
      drawing invisible lines,
      sketching out the paths

      between the cities we carry with us.

Tonight’s plans?
      Still up in the air,
      hanging like clouds,

      unsure if they'll clear or spill over.

I'll end up at Irby's,
     barstool waiting,
     drink in hand,
     eyes glancing at the door,
     fingers tracing —Mari— in the condensation on my glass…

     hoping your footsteps break the pattern of the rain.

You’re tied up—
       and that’s alright.
       Weather does what it wants,

       and so do evenings in Atlanta.

But me?
    I’m still here,
    radar tracking your every move,
    waiting out the minutes
    between what might happen
    and what probably won’t…

    between storm warnings and storm-chasing.

Weather or Not the skies play along,
Weather or Not your night ends early,
Weather or Not you walk through that door tonight—

I’ll still be at Irby’s,
     watching for clear skies,
     hoping for a familiar laugh,

     waiting on you—
     rain or shine.