illphated
I Have the Texas Blues
By Illphated
Out in the neon dusk of a Texas no one had ever dreamed of, she stood alone.
Her name didn’t matter much anymore. Folks just called her Blues—because if you crossed her path, you’d feel it deep in your chest: that bittersweet ache for home, for wide-open skies, and for something lost along the way.
Blues was a cowgirl of another time, but this wasn’t the Texas of old. This was New Texas—a place stitched together with electric sunsets, endless grids, and old country roads glowing under the hum of vaporwave skies.
She carried her boots like a badge of honor. Mud clung to the leather soles, but it wasn’t just dirt—it was Texas itself, sticking to her no matter how far she rode. In her eyes, green as desert sage, you could see it: the memory of campfires, old jukeboxes, and every love song that ever played beneath a blood-red moon.
“I have the Texas Blues,” she whispered to no one in particular, holding up her boots like a ritual.
Behind her, the last cattle drive flickered in the distance—holographic longhorns fading into circuits and code. Ahead of her, a horizon of neon mountains waited, pulsing with promise and pain.
But Blues wasn’t ready to give up just yet.
Not on this land.
Not on this life.
She slipped her boots back on, dusted off the sunset, and rode west—into a future that still felt like home.
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illphated.com
For the dreamers, drifters, and digital cowhands out there—keep riding.
