He wants to see her, to speak to her, to text her, but he can’t. Not whilst he’s driving away from her.
She’s a lead weight; a bullet in his chest. He should get her removed, but the resulting bleed-out would be fatal.
She’s in his dreams; smiling, laughing, sitting beside him. He wonders what it’d be like to hug her and… a horn blare and the image jerks sideways.
Instinct turns his hands, straightens his spine, opens his eyes. Squinting at the dark road, he tries not to think of her.
But he can’t help these near fatal thoughts.