There is a little place tucked between the rockies, a little place filled with warmth amongst its frosty surface, a place that holds an even bigger spot in my heart than my hometown.
This place became my home the minute I landed in Denver and the second I could see the mountains from the bus window. I could tell you it is the people, I could tell you it is the air, I could tell you it is magic, or something they put in the water. I could tell you so many things, but you can only really find out for yourself.
It is the garden of eden, it is an Americana Babylon.
Boulder is alive and there is a beating heart beneath the earth, pulsating with positivity.
Some say the vast ocean is what keeps them down to earth, they say the sea makes them feel as small as the grains of sand beneath their feet. They say the endless sea is perspective but I politely disagree.
The mountains make me feel small, they make me feel like an insignificant speck with a purpose. The mountains give me hope, they inspire me, they are a reminder that I am as alive as I want to be. The mountains whisper songs of endearment. They tell me the truth.
Boulder isn't just a hippie town.
Boulder isn't 420.
Boulder, like the people who live there, isn't a place to be labeled.
It is not a place to be negated by petty words.
It is its own entity.
Just like you and me.
Boulder is alive.
Boulder is pure.
Boulder is love.
And I long to go home.
Thursday could not come sooner.
The mountains are calling, and I really must go.
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