My Dearest Spearman

My Dearest Spearman,

How I miss your flat farmlands and your windy fall afternoons. I miss your sea of purple on Fridays and your dedicated residents. I miss the friendly atmosphere with which you shielded me from the cruelties of the "real world." I miss passing through your city streets, and never having a single person NOT wave. I will always have fond memories of riding my bike and not worrying about my parents knowing where I was, because chances were, someone would call and check in for me. I miss your wide streets with sidewalks and curbs and your alleys with dumpsters. Most of all, I miss the ending of your name: TEXAS.