I drove fifty miles today in search of something to ease me. Ten over the limit on the parkway I grew up on, fast enough to blur the dogwoods into peripheral nothingness. It’s funny, shuttling down the empty road with one hand dangling from the wheel. The mind numbs over, clearing, opening itself to the vast expanse. Permission to be free, granted, soaring through the green lights. I thought, really thought, for the first time in weeks. Thought of the first time I ever saw stars, real stars, freckling an indigo backdrop the first night I’d ever spent away from home. They were so bright I could touch them, had I only reached up, I could’ve plucked them for my own and pasted them on my chest to wear like rare jewels. These stars are nothing like the stars I knew! I exclaimed back then, pure mountain air still new to me, still a language my suburban heart could not speak. I thought of that. And then I thought of you, baby blue, barreling through the road maps of dimly lit memory, how the mind can still clear enough to remember.

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