The Bridge Between Us

They always say,

build bridges, not walls.

So I did.

With hands that shook sometimes,

but never stopped moving.

I laid down the first stone

between us,

then another, and another,

just enough to make it

feel real beneath my feet.

It took time,

and heart,

and more forgiveness than I thought I had.

But I wanted connection,

so I built toward it.

I brought flowers,

and birthday wishes,

and late-night talks when they forgot how to sleep.

I remembered their stories,

even when they forgot mine.

But some bridges,

I’ve learned,

are built only from one side.

And on the other end,

a shrug,

a silence,

a rope swing of “I forgot.”

Enough to keep me hoping,

not enough to keep me whole.

So I walked to the center.

Again.

And again.

Until one day,

I looked back

and saw how long the path was,

how tired I had become.

Bridges, they say,

connect.

But sometimes,

they just stretch

the distance between

what you give

and what you get.

I used to think

letting it fall

was failure.

But now, I am learning

that not every bridge

is worth keeping.

Some,

you let fall.

Not out of anger,

but out of love

for your own tired hands.

Written: 2025