We’re driving across the bridge back from my house and your 
       eyes wander across the grey water to the opening of trees and the slightly-exposed                      
                                 sands that lace the beach. 

        You tell me that you love me and I smile, but look backward toward the spot
                 where I tried to jump out of the car and think about the time that I did 
                                                                and I look at you, 
     I told you once that I was only human and that weakness is only
             I am, and it is, but even now
   I look over to the drivers seat and catch your eyes and
                           wonder how small I would have to be to become
                     invisible and
                               how long it would take you to replace me.
          For the final time, I turn to you,
                                                               and tell you how deep my love does run for you
                                              (and my God, does it)
                            before unhinging your seat belt, opening your door
                                                   and pushing you out,

                                                           saving you the trouble of 
                                                    a moments more time 
                                                                                     with me.  


Published by Charlotte E.E. Griffiths