I bought a pack of camels but I never really smoke.

The spots on the wood match the bruises on my legs and I'm not sure if I like this ache because it means success or because it means I can still feel something at all. The softest melody I've heard in a year comes from a guitar player on stage who's singing about how he misses Colorado winters and the presence of God in the form of snowflakes. What brings a man in love with 40below to Georgia in July? I wonder if he lays awake at night, trying to find the scent of Denver woven in the plaster dots on his ceiling. I pray to God that I've never been Georgia to my brownandgreen Colorado winter.