There is something melodramatic about bridges.
An uneven path, strewn with red gulmohars, overlooking a stream.
At times a meeting point for lovers, midway through.
Each taking their fair share of compromise, of going the distance, finishing each other’s sentences.
Sometimes we reluctantly build bridges.
Someone, somewhere extends you their hand, arm, a sympathetic ear and if you’re lucky, their heart.
But what happens when you are left stranded on the bridge that you built with someone.
A broken heart.
A tragic separation.
Do you continue to stand on the bridge, alone, stranded?
Waiting for their return.
Wait for time to heal wounds, provide answers, or just run?
To burn those bridges that cause nothing but pain.
But, wouldn’t it be better if we stood on those very bridges with ourselves,
Relished the breeze, soaked in the view and counted the stars.