Being Tired of Lonely Evenings
The night, everything about the night, was clear.
The air cold, smooth.
A sweatshirt underneath a jacket
to keep warm in an Oregon winter.
The air bit the top of her nose.
Thoughts raced through her mind
in a thick layer of THC.
The Frohnmeyer Bridge is long and eerie,
but it was a comfort att one in the morning.
Depressed and stoned, she looked at the water.
In a daze.
The Willamette River.
Beautiful and clear. A literal force of nature.
Scary fast.
Her fingers gripped the rail as she pondered
a tiny trip over.
How easy it would be...
After ten minutes, she goes home,
like she does every time.
She never knows what stops her.