The bridge between us stands in the wind stoic with indifferent strength, resigned strength.
Static trusses of steel withstand without a sound as forces crack through it and propagate to the ground, like how the lightning through your mess of veins is grounded in the rubber soles of your sneakers.
We are stalling, looking for veins in everything to prove our alive— a dragonfly’s wing on the floor, a leaf’s venation, the Arabic graffiti lost in translation on the railing and the rivers creeping outside their contours.
Your lips are turning blue in the storm.
The bridge is strong. Nothing can go wrong but every bar is under stress, yours in tension and mine all compressed and the bars don’t move but underneath is a storm of forces pushing and pulling us at once with the cold magnets of the poles of the earth.
If we jump off this bridge instead of across we will not fall