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.