A streetlamp guides me, a blurred pool of light. My spine curves to the handlebars.

Yesterday my conceit ruled, and I left. Afterwards, I wrote to her: bungled, confused words about freedom.

I must reach her before the letter.

The lamppost’s swan-neck is thinned by fog, delicate as a nerve.

Elizabeth Leyland writes short and long fiction and lives in the UK. She has been published by 50-Word Stories, Paragraph Planet, Fairfield Scribes and CafeLit.