The Wild West Days

I have been on these mountain drives one thousand and ten times. Hiking Horsetooth Mountain hungover, searching for a satin sunrise. Praying for a reservoir reverie or a Colorado daydream. I looked for answers beneath beer pong conversations and alcoholic romances. I tried to find myself in senior glamour shots, smoking pot and sex in high school parking lots. 

We were wild west teens. Misfit teams and bandit queens. Smoky cowboy voices, crooked smiles, cheeks pressed to cold tiles. I was a child and she was a child in this kingdom of make believe, but we loved with a love that was more than love. Walking tightropes in our sleep, tying kite strings to our feet.

We were wild west teens. Misfit teams and bandit queens. Short skirts, nose bleeds, bathroom stalls. Curfews, Red Rocks, foothills fashion mall. Lip rings, hand drawn tattoos, playing skate, kissing girls, drinking UV blue.

I don’t think any of us really knew how temporary those years would be, or how none of it really amounted to anything.

We thought it must, but those fears and faces are now out of touch.

I’m not here to glamorize, glorify or praise, I just want to thank you for those wild west days.