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arizona.

It was all bright burning yellow. That was the only colour. The scene smelled of heat and anticipated confusion. Huge rocks and boulders locking us into inescapable vastness. Dry. Dirt filling the ridges in your fingerprint. Arizona. He looked at me and said “I’m alright, now. Don’t you worry about me anymore.” Is Arizona dry? Or yellow? I’ve never been. We’ve never been. We’ve never been anywhere together. And it was for the better. “Will I see you again?” I said. “Who are you?” he looked at me, with my father’s eyes.