Burned

She didn't know who he was. He stood so still and held so tightly, arms wrapping like a snake, squeezing life from her lungs and heart. She let go too quickly, or so it would seem, because she's sitting alone and wondering what really happened. It's like a blur of a speeding car, wiping color and light against her eyes. It fades with a blink, but she can still feel the wind in her hair and taste the smell of fuel in her mouth (so dry from lack of use. She needs to talk more, but there's no one to listen). Black asphalt reflects her life: burned and scarred and laid bare for others to use. She'd rather be the road than the car, though.