I have a sickening tendency to hope.
I will stand on one end of the bridge you’re burning, fire hose ready, while you’re on the other end adding more gasoline.
I will inhale the smoke and cough up your broken promises, trying to make you remember how we were before to no avail.
And after running away before my lungs aren’t the only thing burning, I will watch from a safe distance as you walk away in the wake of the flames.
I won’t say a word as I douse them, but I will build a new bridge out of my memories after putting out the remaining embers and wait to see if you ever cross it.