You never once let me down. Not when my day was far too long, not when my heart felt far too broken, not when I thought I’d finally had more than enough of this dusty city. You always showed up — slowly at first, and then, seemingly, all at once, setting the sky on fire.
Something is healing about the way you stretch over the fields, lighting up silos and steeples, painting even the ugliest parking lot gold. You’ve been there in every season — behind the wheel on lonely drives, walking out of the back door of a venue after a show, standing barefoot in the backyard just trying to catch my breath.
You’ve been the quiet reminder that beauty still happens here, even when life doesn’t go as planned. You’ve seen my heartbreak, my laughter, my “what am I even doing?” moments — and somehow made them all look cinematic.
So thank you. For reminding me that this place — this stubborn, windblown, and, at times, ridiculous Lubbock — has a way of catching the light just right.
Thank you for showing up when I needed proof that the dullest of days could still end in color.
With love, Someone who’s still watching…