Atlanta

We fell in love over coffee and heartache and suburbs 35 miles apart.

In between those little towns, lots and lots of food.

We found a simple equation…a meal shared equaled a secret revealed.

We met 15 miles in, and the meals and secrets came quickly. Leftovers in hand and hearts hanging on our sleeves, we emptied ourselves readily, unafraid to show our nastiest parts to this (somehow) not-so-stranger.

We knew it was a bad idea but then, suddenly, we couldn’t remember why.

Like hungry college kids, we explored that city. Ravenous and broke. Like hungry college kids, we fell in love. Ravenous and broken.

And the city roared back, called for more.

And so we treated her better.

And so we loved better.

We planned, researched, made reservations. We dressed up, tipped the valet, invited friends. We nurtured our city and our city gave back.

We knew we wanted to leave but then, suddenly, we couldn’t remember why.

We strained against the suburbs, we pulled towards the hum in the middle. It’s the lights, I think, and I-75 at night. That magic combination kept us coming back for more.

Down there in the middle, our brokenness seemed small and our city seemed so big.

Then we moved.

And realized how much we didn’t explore, how much we didn’t yet know.

Our city dug her heals in, persistent and anchored, steady and sure. Our city nodded slightly, not a “goodbye” but a “see you later” and let us go.

We fell in love over coffee and heartache and suburbs 35 miles apart.

But we grew in love over cooking and prayer and 601 miles.

Let it be all that it can: love and life and Atlanta. Let it be all that it wants and, with the lights and the magic, it’ll all fall together.

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