Oh, Denver, how I miss you.

I miss the lights, the people wearing mismatching clothing... and yes, I even miss the traffic.

I miss having the option to go to little boutiques cluttered with figurines from foreign countries that I hope to one day visit. I miss there being more than two local coffee shops to support so that I only have to go to Starbucks every once in awhile. I miss there being people out on the streets at all hours of the night busking with obscure instruments.

I miss having the option to protest. No matter how much research I put into trying to find like-minded millennials that want to make a difference, I can't in such a small, albeit charming town. I miss there being more than three different kinds of people; I want to meet fifty different kinds of people: weird, classy models, wall street types, politicos, stoners, recovering addicts, rock climbers, those who are a different ethnicity than myself.

I miss being in a city that feels alive after midnight, yet is still able to wake up for sunrise yoga. I want more vegans yelling at me to put down my chicken nuggets. I need more people that understand that the Grateful Dead is more than music,—it's a lifestyle. I want to drive by where the Broncos play and pretend I care.

I know that in a big city I will miss the unlimited mountain hikes, the quick trips to the hot springs, and even the legit happiness I feel when I recognize customers from the local pet shop I work at when we're at the too-small grocery store, which only has one aisle of organic supplies.

But I need more options. I need more than what a small town can offer me. I'm not breaking up with the sweet Mesa Valley just yet, but it's going to happen, and I'll only mourn until I have graduated and returned to the overcrowded, marijuana-smelling city where I will survive off hustling personalized poetry for the passerby and jamming on my djembe.