Denver has lights. There are lights in the city which illuminate a warm summer sky against the buzz of people dancing to slow music and chatting over someone else's hell of a week. There are lights in the upscale apartment where my friends live downtown, where we sit on the roof in faded jean shorts and a sweatshirt looking at the lights which illuminate the sky. And there are lights in the eyes of the people who live here, who say with a white blouse and a soft smile or with tousled blonde hair and a red and gray flannel that for them, this is it, this is everything. In that moment I understand that it's not the lights of the city or the lights inside my friend's upscale apartment which captivate me, but rather it's the light in their eyes which illuminate the sky.