Love & Heartbreak
The Bridge Between Us
We stood on opposite ends of that old wooden bridge near Oak Creek, the same bridge where we'd shared our first kiss three summers ago. The water below rushed by, indifferent to the weight of the silence between us.
You said you were leaving for a job across the country. I said I understood. Neither of us said what we really meant — that we were scared, that we didn't want this to end, that loving someone sometimes means letting them go.
I watched you walk away until you became a speck on the horizon. And then I sat down on the bridge, my legs dangling over the edge, and I cried. Not because you were leaving, but because we'd never said goodbye properly.
Some bridges are built to bring people together. Others are built to teach us that even when someone walks away, the love remains — tangled in the wooden planks, whispered in the rushing water, carried in the wind.
You said you were leaving for a job across the country. I said I understood. Neither of us said what we really meant — that we were scared, that we didn't want this to end, that loving someone sometimes means letting them go.
I watched you walk away until you became a speck on the horizon. And then I sat down on the bridge, my legs dangling over the edge, and I cried. Not because you were leaving, but because we'd never said goodbye properly.
Some bridges are built to bring people together. Others are built to teach us that even when someone walks away, the love remains — tangled in the wooden planks, whispered in the rushing water, carried in the wind.
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