the car radio was
a constant stream of emotion;
saltwater that was once a sky’s reflection
was now a shallow pool of tears
beneath the Golden Gate Bridge
where, in her red dress, he first held her hand
as they stood on what
was commonly misunderstood as
solid ground
over a freshwater bay,
when really,
all bridges inevitably collapse
and every body of water is tainted,
leading to a black ocean;
an inevitable depth of sadness
they were never meant to be,
nobody is.
alas,
as he drives back over something so
unstable, yet so
desirable,
his car radio cries.
and at that moment,
as surrounding memories shake,
he wills the bridge to go down.
san fran!
