Walking through the park at night with the mist gently folding over everything, thick at the river and the deeper trees, thin along the path we stepped off. Disembodied voices calling to wandering dogs, lost friends, missed connections. Teenagers entwined on a bench, and further on two scruffy men with a paper bag of something fiery between them, the shared communion of their downfall. Everything is about undoing, belts and buttons and lives; about breaking, hearts and bottles and promises. I wanted to whisper into your ear that you didn't have to lie to me, wishing to set you free of the habit. But once one lie is out the rest come so much easier, don't they, and you've already told the first one.