They say you can never go home again, but what if home is the only place left where you might rediscover yourself? I didn't come back to Boulder for the mountains or the artisanal coffee-though they don't hurt. I came back because, somewhere along the way, I lost myself in the chaos of life, and now I'm searching for the pieces. Theo Thompson, with his tousled hair and paint-streaked fingers, is more than just a distraction. He's the kind of creative chaos that makes me want to pick up a brush and face the canvas again, even if it means confronting the doubts and fears I thought I left behind in New York. But with every stroke of color, I realize that it's not just art I'm afraid of-it's what happens when you let someone in, especially someone who sees you in ways you've forgotten how to see yourself. So, here I am, standing on the edge of something terrifyingly beautiful. My heart says to embrace the mess, but my head keeps whispering: what if it's not enough? What if I'm not enough?
