Ten-Speed
Four miles
does not seem very far,
does not sound very far,
even in a city like Los Angeles.
Especially at three in the morning,
when you can safely assume
traffic will be light;
and even on a bicycle -
I was in pretty good shape -
I figured I could be to your place
in fifteen, twenty minutes tops
and told you so over the phone,
telling you to just hold on,
just wait fifteen minutes and I would
be there and we could talk it out,
that I would stay with you until the morning
and then we could go get coffee in
Santa Monica and I would skip work
and spend the day with you, so just
hold on, don't do anything you will
regret.
I love you like a brother, I told you,
and just hang on until I get there,
goddammit. But no matter how hard
I rode, and how many cars there actually were
out at three-fifteen a.m. and how many
nearly ran me over, it turns out that
four miles is exactly the distance
from before to after,
from the possible to the irreversible,
from one side of the world
to the other.
From one broken heart to two.