We were thinking we had our whole lives to stubbornly steal time. Driving across the longest bridge at midnight with a cigarette in one hand and your hand in the other, our car was the only one on the road. We were sneaking around all night; giggling along with the adrenalin in our blood and the nicotine on the tips of our tongues.

How crazy were we to think that was normal; knowing bumper to bumper traffic rose with the sun and our empty freeway was just a thick cloud of the smoke that rushed out the windows. The buzz we worked so hard to get faded and our lungs ached from the smoke that once called our bodies home.

I think somewhere along the way we took a wrong turn. Somehow we kept driving around in circles and the sun's light was peaking our from the water, our time was up and you and I both knew that. The sun rise no longer held violets and deep reds, there was only grey. I was told to never burn bridges but that night I let kerosene and the ember at the end of my cigarette play together and watched that bridge burn to the ground along with every dazed memory I had of you.

Now were standing on two different sides of the rode staring at each other between ashes. Every so often I find myself wondering what would've happened if I let you keep driving until we were met with the sun. Inevitably, I know that we would've gone our separate ways. That's the somber part about the inevitable, an outcome, regardless of what we want, is always the same.