I’m sat in the driver’s seat on a Saturday night.
It’s cold because you’re next to me with your window rolled down smoking a cigarette, the whole car smells of tobacco now but I won’t tell you to stop because I know it’s your vice,
and I know it’s probably the only thing keeping you together right now. I’ve been known to have a cigarette myself occasionally when you’re not around; the smell reminds me of you, and the taste does too.
I’m going to drive until I get us out of here. I don’t know where to go and I don’t know how long it’ll take, but I do know I’m not gonna let them get you, not again.
Streetlights and neon road signs blaze past us, lit billboards advertising mundane things, fast food restaurants and reality tv shows, and it’s so surreal that the normal world is rushing past us, the normal world that we’re leaving behind.
You finally roll your window up and I hear you shivering in your seat. You haven’t spoken for the last 20 minutes because the last time you did I told you to shut up. I can tell you’re frightened so I reach out and put my hand on your lap in an attempt to comfort you. I wish I could think of something to say to reassure you, but the word’s won’t come, I can’t think of them, all I can think about is driving as far away and as fast as possible, anything to keep you out of harm’s way, because I won’t lose you, not again.
You put your hand in mine and I gently squeeze your fingers, and that’s when I feel your flesh disintegrating, getting softer and softer until your hand is no longer there, I turn wildly around to face you and reach to grab your other hand, but that’s disappearing too, every part of you I touch slips through my fingers like sand, I scream and try to pull you back but there’s nothing I can do, you’re melting away, and that’s when I realise
you’re not here, and sure you’re only 50 miles away but that’s ever such a lot and I can’t drive and the cold that I’m feeling isn’t coming through a car window but from the wind whipping all around me

I’m standing staring through the wooden slats at my feet to the sea beneath me, the luminous letters ‘BRIGHTON PIER’ above my head gleaming as the sun sets, and the smell of salt water and donuts and things that usually smell of happiness to me but all I can think about is how I never got to bring you here.
And I wish I was beautiful enough for you,
and I wish that you realised that she doesn’t deserve you
she never did
and that I would be all yours if you’d only agree to be all mine
but I know that’s never going to happen and I’ll never get to see you bathed in sunset laughing as the waves break around us
and I’ll never get to tell you how breathtakingly beautiful you are silhouetted under spinning lights and carnival music
and I’ll never get to make you happy because someone else will always make you happier
and I won’t ever be enough.
And I could skip pebbles here all night but it won’t change the fact that you’re alone in your bedroom drinking wine out of the bottle and I’m not even on your mind, and it won’t bring you back to sit next to me.