A boy looks yonder from his place of comfort to another place full of wonder and beauty that claimed many hearts. A march of footsteps, left first then the right, and he’d be on the other side. He takes a deep breath, entranced by visions of sweet beginnings and happy endings, then his feet follow his heartbeat towards the place he set his sights on. But as the place draws near, a bridge beckons and he pauses. He pauses. A flood of memories swelling finally burst out and confronts the boy, memories of longing, of others’ sweet beginnings and happy endings, endings and beginnings that were possible because of his doing, one way or another. He tries to trudge along, but he pauses. He pauses again. He stares at the bridge and another torrent of memories succumbs him - an architect in his life up to that point, he has built and burned many bridges for those in need, but never did he make one for himself. He stares at the bridge and footsteps followed his heartbeat. But then the footsteps stop in the middle and pauses. He pauses. Bridges have been with him for the longest time, he thought, and while others use it without a second thought, he’d always stop and marvel at the wondrous conduit that links one place, one plane, to another.
He breathes in and lets out a sigh, and a smile slowly creeps up his face. He sits in the middle of the bridge, solace and bliss fill his being. He has found his place, his new beginning and happy ending.
Even bridges need love.
