Macon

Tossing a middle finger to Macon, Georgia, on my way to Nashville.

That was always the dream. Sing country music, go on tour, top the charts—with my popularity growing every day, I was on my way.

All it took was a gust of wind that blew up your skirt, and those white cotton panties had me hooked. I didn't know your name, and you turned down every attempt I threw your way. But I knew you were different, even though you told me I was the same.

"Just friends" is what you offered, and I played by your rules, but, Adelaide Hatfield, you have to know, from that day, it was only you.

I just hope I can make you see how much you mean to me before we both drown in the sorrow of what heartbreak will bring.