It takes one hour to come up with a letter, a goodbye,
and two minutes to read between the lines.
One hour for the pavement to dry
after a rainy evening examining the lies.
Sixty minutes for the dust to settle
from the engine exhaust pipe.
Under the sturdy gas pedal,
past the bar you once liked.
Three empty glasses of beers from the neck,
our sorrows we drink away.
The two of us, an understandable wreck,
soul searching for one day to be okay.
From the passenger seat I had watch you in awe,
from your hands to your face,
to the way you say my name with calm.
This is us, what we embrace.
It takes one hour to shatter trust,
and five years to write a letter of forgiveness.
Sitting here in my new home I adjust
years turn to wisdom on how to forgive us.
