I’VE LIVED IN COLORADO for one year, four months, three weeks, and two days. I’ve watched each day pass, waiting for my restlessness to return. But it hasn’t. People tell me it’s brave to go, but I know it’s harder to stay.
When I crossed the Colorado state line, I sat still because I was too exhausted to move, and then I stayed because I fell in love with the mountains, because I met a man who introduced me to a version of myself I’d never been able to see. This isn’t a love story. I wish it were. It’s not.