We drive in silence.
Crossing the Bay bridge I see the city, lights winking at me from between the trusses as if she harbors a secret.
Time seems to move in both slow motion and warp speed. I want to hold on. I want to let go.
I look down, the water, black, reflects the night, or does it reflect the darkness that envelops my heart.
I look over to his face, so reassuring, so familiar, but in the surreal, orange glow of the lights on the bridge, he does not look like himself. He looks strong, but sad and so very far away. I know I could just reach out and touch him, but it is as if I am already gone, watching from another place, another time, this is already a memory, as am I.
I will not be forgotten, but I will fade. The clear, sharp edges will soften until I am an occasional memory, a story told.
This bridge I cross in silence is my final connection to this place. Steel and concrete spanning a distance it was not intended.
Two years is approaching, two years between that bridge and me.
I stand at the edge, I briefly look back, and I spread my arms ready.
My heart, no longer enveloped in darkness will always be connected to that place, that bridge. Perhaps one day I will cross back, perhaps not. Time continues to move in warp speed and slow motion, but I will hold each moment, then let it go.
The dark, country sky is filled with stars, winking at me from between the trees as if they harbor a secret.
I drive in silence.