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We're standing in that moment, just prior to the point of no return, the air thick with the weight of decision and indecision.
Arm out, over the edge of the bridge, fist beginning to loosen the grip on its contents.

The edge of town blends into the gentle glow of street lamps and traffic, none of it's 30,000 inhabitants aware of the potential mistake you're making. Equally, letting go could be the start of something wonderful.

You made your mind up to come here, and rid yourself of the offending item in a moment of melodrama; to have it washed out to sea or slowly sink into the silt of the river bed, depending on floating properties you had never before had reason to investigate, but when you arrived all there was was doubt. You want to do this. You are going to do this. But...


Open fist. It's gone before it hits the water.
There is no return now, only calm, and the walk back home.

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