Visceral. How a trip would feel, I assume, if I were one to trip. My breathing aligned with Bono’s silky sweet declaration and I am the one he’s referring to. I don’t run, but when Bono says so, and I can smell the reverberations from the Edge’s fingertips, I do. I run. I run for miles and miles and miles in hopes that this song, this feeling will never end. I close my eyes and allow my feet to carry me alongside the harmonica, invincible. I wish I could lock this song in a safe and keep it for myself, only to share with her when I am ready and when she is ready and when we can share that visceral trip together. I want to live in this song. And when the time comes, I want to die in this song. I want to love her in this song, and I want it to be ours and ours alone. Beauty untapped and terribly unmatched. Bono is here, the Edge is here, I am here, and she is here. We dream of the needle chill, and we dream as we run. As we run for all this time, only to stand still.

Lacey Cohen is a writer, editor, and hopeless romantic. She is currently working on her MFA at Long Island University, living in Brooklyn, and working as the Managing Editor at Defunct Magazine, but she is a true and proud Michigander at heart (Go blue baby). In her (very little) free time, Lacey loves to read, play guitar, and binge watch ~30-minute adult cartoons.