There was a time and a place to tell me.

Why you chose the moment you did, I can't quite work out. Maybe you needed the time before to steel yourself, and thought the time afterwards would be good for us.

After all, we were halfway down a motorway - I wasn't going anywhere. You had me to yourself.

You touched my hand while you talked. It felt like I was being unknit. I don't feel much in that spot anymore.

Then there was silence. Perhaps you were talking and touching my hand - I couldn't say. My mind was elsewhere. Somewhere sterile. You did well to trap me there, in your car, but all your words had switched to hissing static.

That chart music was no good either.

I suppose the only preferable time was never, and the only preferable place was nowhere. So you did the right thing.

Note to self: Be less of a fragile wretch.