Drowning one letter at a time
Melting into the lines
Choking on my words
Biting into every punchline
Sneaking pass commas
Jumping over question marks
Running for the end of the page
Ready to turn to the other side
Finding a new start line
Recovering by the paragraph.
And so we pass. We came to our bridge, testing the roads behind us and riding the rocky waters, to come to this final passage. And now before us we look to the stretch and to the clouds hugging the bridge bed.
“I’m ready.”
I look to the other, seeing those set eyes on the other end of the bridge. I am ready but something about the scent strikes me to turn away. The delivery turns my head.
“I’m not.”
I let go of their hand, the sudden rush of wind behind us swallowing them into the mouth of wood and rope. I hold fast to a tree, my eyes set to retrace my steps.
“Don’t leave me.”
I clamp tighter with this whisper, the leaf and soil smells embracing my resistance, and I give one final smile.
“Goodbye.”
My journey is back to where I started. This was not my bridge to cross.
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