There was a
time and a
place to tell me.
Why you chose the
moment you did, I can't quite work out. Maybe you needed the
time before to
steel yourself, and thought the time afterwards would be
good for us.
After all, we were halfway down a
motorway -
I wasn't going anywhere. You had me to yourself.
You touched my
hand while you talked. It felt like I was being
unknit. I don't feel much in that spot anymore.
Then there was
silence. Perhaps you were
talking and
touching my hand - I couldn't say. My mind was
elsewhere. Somewhere
sterile. You did well to
trap me there, in your
car, but all your
words had switched to hissing
static.
That
chart music was no good either.
I suppose the only preferable time was
never, and the only preferable place was
nowhere. So you did the right thing.
Note to self: Be
less of a
fragile wretch.