An aside to you the reader, about the bridges I've burnt and the people who have died on them.

I let a lot of people slip away. 
I scoop a handful of sand, abduct my fingers and let the grains trickle - unfocused - into the grey.
These grains are among the collective 
there for the taking, 
free to be picked up by the wind,
but some of them stay.
The wind may have it's way.
The wind whips them upon my face.
Unable to forget the ones I  let trickle away
I dive into the sand and let water and mud take me away.