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