Exhaust

The hazy blue of gas-streaked exhaust fades in the air over rain slickened pavement. The yellow lines of painted boundaries separating going and coming in a never-ending war of wheels pressed to the blacktop.

The tank is a quarter fuller than it was when you were present, no longer exhausted in a journey to find you. You found yourself across the yellow lines and I was a beacon moving ever forward.

Pale orbs of light pierce the darkening night that consumes the world in shades of black and yellow. The road we journey lacks the brevity of broken lines, instead, we find the harsh double line of reality.