United States
March 07
Mother/Writer/Lover of Life
Isn't life a bit like walking through a briar patch made of taffy on a summer day at noon? Thanks for stopping in, Stephanie


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MAY 10, 2010 1:04PM

The Bridge

Rate: 9 Flag


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.

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This is just beautiful writing. No other words for it. "R"
What a beautiful piece; subtle. R
The writing is so elegant, it doesn't matter, but I don't understand what this means. Should I?
You write well. I hope the focus is increasingly toward the bridges yet to cross. I think with you it will be increasingly easy to focus forward and to put past bridges in perspective. Time helps enormously.

Very moving . The images create a sense of dread and melancholy of loss and change. Rated
This is a beautifully written, emotional piece. It speaks to me on a personal level, which I hope I'll be able to put into words one day. ~R~
Steph, where are you my dear? did you fall off the bridge?