sold my soul to the open road.

drip. drop. drip. drop. all i could hear was the ending drizzle of the downpour that had driven me into this sheltered bus stop less than 10 minutes ago, searching through my bag for my last cigarette, i find your letter. My breathing stops as i trace my fingers over your unbelievably messy handwriting. I turn it over and study the still sealed envelope that was starting to age, 2 months and i still couldn't bear to open it. what if it said things i didn't want to hear? or worse still, things i did. i couldn't come running back to you, not after all this time, not now. I'd made this decision, id left, i waved goodbye and i never dared to look back, too scared of what i might of seen. Had your face been one of sadness or one of relief? and in the end which one was worse? I remember you handing me the letter, with a smile you slipped it into my bag as i got in the car, i tried lying to myself, preteding i had forgotten it was in there, but the truth was id always known. My own selfishness stopped me reading it these last 2 months, i knew your words were the only thing left in this world that could break me, so i ignored the yellowing envelope, just as i will now. Finding my cigarette, i place the letter back into its hiding spot and walk away. Ill read it one day, after all, its already too late...whats the rush?