Searching For The Blur

Cars fly by me in a blur. Or I fly by them. I’m not sure. Could be street signs. Or traffic lights. Red, yellow, green. Blue, purple, pink. It doesn’t matter to me anymore. 

Blue. A gradient of navy blues. The twilight sky. The sparkling white stars of a summer night. The dewy grass sticking to my bare torso under the heavy, humid Midwest air. A calloused fingertip, drawing gentle circles along my palm. A racing heart, radiating heat onto my cheek. A steady, reassuring arm I could always count on to pull me closer. A spasming chest from a light, melodic laugh, now silenced forever. 

I gasp and dig my foot into the gas. My ears fill quickly with the roar of the overworked engine. 70. 80. 90. I’m not sure. I’m just searching for the blur.