I sit on the porch with my head in my hands and try not to think of all the shades of her – her cool blue eyes, her earthy brown hair. Her favorite green shirt. Her silly red shoes. Her freckles.

Even her laugh sounds like yellow.

The sweet summer night wraps around me like a blanket, engulfing me in a breeze that is cool but hardly comforting.

I can’t stand being still, I can’t stand sitting here. So I do what I always do when the world runs me over – I get in my car and I run over the world.

The engine starts.

And all I can think about is the orange of the sun as it shines on her face through the passenger’s side window, or the way the brown freckles on her nose multiply in the summer.

I wish I could tell her all of these things.

Someone is having a party somwhere. The sounds of happy people mulling around a fire pit reach my ears through the rolled-down windows.

And I’m left with an empty road and harmonica bleeding out of the radio, thinking about the way she makes light dance.