One Lane Dash (Pt.1)

She stands outside the station and takes a few puffs of her last cigarette. She observes the smoke as she exhales and smiles at the pink lipstick residue. Underneath a building overhang she reaches into her red quilted purse and retrieves her cell phone. She stares at it. Take another drag. And unlocks the keypad. 'Create new message'.
She knows she shouldn't put any more effort into him, she'll, once again, be left hanging on the side of a cliff, awaiting her arm to grow numb and strength to drain her hope. But she writes anyway.
'Why haven't you called or texted? And please don't ignore this message,' she writes as a last attempt to convince him to say something, 'Be honest'. Send.
She stares at the spinning letter and takes another drag of her dependable other, 'message sent'.
She doesn't understand why things that can be so simply resolved, so simply defined, are so hard to say and make definite. She wants to believe that he is just confused, scared and isn't sure what to say because of the obligations which may ensue. She wants to believe this. She sees no other appropriate explanation for just leaving her. Weeks before she had spend the most memorable and satisfying night with him, filled with affection and undeniable connection. How could he pretend there was nothing there?
She realizes this isn't the first time things have come to be this way. Time and time again she is taken for granted and left to stand alone on the city streets watching others say their loving goodbyes until tomorrow. She knows that she must change the way she views herself and the ways in which relationships must begin. She doesn't know whether to give it all at once - her trust, her affection, her time and her love. If one wants to give this all to him, should one schedule it so that no one is overwhelmed? Should one put her feelings on hold until the next hurdle arrives? Are relationships tracks which we run, racing to finish the next lap, to make another move, reveal another piece of ourselves? So when do we stop running?
She figures this is her last lap, she's reaching the finish line awaiting the prize to come into sight. What will it be, an empty victory or arms spread open allowing her into his life?
She arrives home an hour later - no reply. Zero messages.

"Tell me what this restlessness is.

Tell me how much longer it will last

Or how I can get it to stop."