One week left—
    but the landing…

    isn't quite where we both want it to be.

Seven days from now,
    I'll touch down in Fort Worth—
    hug my daughter tight,
    swap stories with Mom,

    sink effortlessly into the city that raised me,
                                         shaped me,
                                     knows me best.

I joke that Texas
    is just a detour—
    but family and home
    mean more than layovers,
    more than quick stops

    on the way to somewhere else.

Still, Atlanta whispers,
     quietly persistent,
    reminding me gently…

    that another reunion waits just beyond my hometown horizon.

One week in the "wrong" city,
    but Fort Worth is never wrong—
             just warmly familiar,
                 comfortably mine,
                 a home I cherish,

    even as I quietly count the hours—
                until wheels up again,
                         heading east,

    straight toward the person…

    who makes every landing feel exactly right.