5: Denver

How do I say goodbye to love?

(Especially when love loves me back?)

I’ve lived in Colorado for nearly twenty-four years. It’s one of the longest relationships of my life. And (this is the part that makes it so much harder), it’s loved me back. Like people, some places just don’t, can’t, or won’t reciprocate the same feelings. (That ex-boyfriend that was easy to part ways with? Who actually loved his [insert insert insert] more than you?! What a crazy ********!)

Denver is a fat golden ceramic pot, and I’m its baby succulent. (What a plump image, no?) Denver is my sweet reunion, even before I’ve kissed it goodbye. Denver is nice weather, nice people, nice mountains. If I had grown in North Dakota or Louisiana (no offense!) or some very conservative, humid, grumpier-folked locale, I might write less wistfully about leaving.

And, I bet the nineteen thousand or so people who are moving here each month would concur.

*

All the contours and shadows (and yes, even crevices) deserve my fond adieu. From the edges of Aurora, to the fresh-cut grass in the Highlands, to the hot, busied cement of 16th Street, to the hazy clouds swimming over kids wetting their feet in the river at Confluence Park, I plant a proverbial kiss. I don’t know if I’ll live here again, so I kiss you everywhere I can.

On my bike rides under sweltering sunlight, I plant kisses for you in the corners of shaded buildings. When I drive through your (now impressive and staggering) traffic, I squint at the mountain tops and press a kiss there with my finger. In the parks, in my bedroom, in the trash-rotting alley, I stop for a second and kiss the air.

*

I’ve resolved the best way to say goodbye to my home is to give it to other people. I don’t mean give away all my possessions, or even my physical space I rent (by the way, I won’t miss the skyrocketing rents [insert rocket ship emoji]!). I could stick a free sign on everything I own and still might be terribly sad (just more brokeass) while boarding the plane to Asia.

What does give me some relief (in addition to the above, solitary makeouts) is the knowledge that other people will be here, hopefully appreciating their city as much as I did. (As I write this, I feel like I’m departing the Earth as by death rather than by fuel and modern aircraft; but, I wonder if it would feel vastly different?) The comfort comes from imagining other people breathing, hoping, struggling, walking, sleeping, and loving in this place.

When I’m gone in less than a month, and tears snail on down my round cheeks, I’ll remember that other people might love this place as I sure have.

July 11, 2016