Oct 2016
Right now I am on this strange bridge.
A bridge in between adolescence and adulthood.
The bridge is long, but I walk fast.
Even when I demand my feet to slow down, they keep moving forward with a quickened and frightened pace,
as if they were being chased, but they are not.
You see, no one is on the bridge but me.
And that makes me lonely.
I have friends on both sides of the bridge,
but they don't seem to walk with me.
So I walk by myself.
Sometimes when the loneliness becomes too much to bare,
I turn around to look at where I came from.,
to make my heart warm with the memories.
With just one turn of my head I can hear my Dad's voice on Christmas morning, yelling that Santa came.
I can remember the satisfaction of running through the sprinkler on a warm September school night.
I can taste the hot chocolate marshmallows on my lips, the way it warmed my body on the first snow day of the year.
I can feel the grass underneath my bare feet as I weave in and out of laundry hung up on a line.
I can see the fireworks light up the July night sky as I lay on a riverbank with my best friends.
I can hear James Taylor's sweet voice flow freely though the kitchen as my mom makes dinner.
And I can remember, I can so vividly remember how it feels to lay down at night knowing that on the other side of my poster plastered bedroom wall, were people who would always and fervently protect me.
How infinite I thought those feelings would be.
But most times I can not afford to look back for long.
I must keep walking, so I turn and face the other side of the bridge.
I have no memories there.
Only my own fears,
My own expectations.
My own hopes.
I imagine what that side will look like.
A good job. Bills, savings. Responsibility.
A swanky city apartment, plane tickets to pretty places.
Wanting to make some difference but not quite knowing how.
Phone calls to catch up.
Visits twice a year.
A nice boy, a happy girl.
Something blue, something borrowed.
More mouths to feed, more souls to love.
Coffee and wrinkles.
Fighting to stay in love.
Fighting to stay alive.
These thoughts overwhelm me.
Thinking of the other side places a weighted and anxious ball in the pit of my gut.
So today instead of looking back and instead of looking forward, I choose to look down.
I see the wooden beams of the bridge, smooth and nailed carefully together.
Through the cracks of the wood I notice the raging river below.
The water looks so cold. The movement looks so violent.
I am overcome with a feeling of relief that I am not in the river.
I notice again the wooden beams of the bridge, constructed so carefully.
I bend my knees and my feet feel the sturdiness of the bridge.
I can't help but smile.
And for the first time since I have been on the bridge,
I feel so overwhelmingly thankful that I even have a bridge at all,
that I have something to walk on during this journey.
I guess sometimes it takes looking down,
to realize what's lifting you up.
A bridge in between adolescence and adulthood.
The bridge is long, but I walk fast.
Even when I demand my feet to slow down, they keep moving forward with a quickened and frightened pace,
as if they were being chased, but they are not.
You see, no one is on the bridge but me.
And that makes me lonely.
I have friends on both sides of the bridge,
but they don't seem to walk with me.
So I walk by myself.
Sometimes when the loneliness becomes too much to bare,
I turn around to look at where I came from.,
to make my heart warm with the memories.
With just one turn of my head I can hear my Dad's voice on Christmas morning, yelling that Santa came.
I can remember the satisfaction of running through the sprinkler on a warm September school night.
I can taste the hot chocolate marshmallows on my lips, the way it warmed my body on the first snow day of the year.
I can feel the grass underneath my bare feet as I weave in and out of laundry hung up on a line.
I can see the fireworks light up the July night sky as I lay on a riverbank with my best friends.
I can hear James Taylor's sweet voice flow freely though the kitchen as my mom makes dinner.
And I can remember, I can so vividly remember how it feels to lay down at night knowing that on the other side of my poster plastered bedroom wall, were people who would always and fervently protect me.
How infinite I thought those feelings would be.
But most times I can not afford to look back for long.
I must keep walking, so I turn and face the other side of the bridge.
I have no memories there.
Only my own fears,
My own expectations.
My own hopes.
I imagine what that side will look like.
A good job. Bills, savings. Responsibility.
A swanky city apartment, plane tickets to pretty places.
Wanting to make some difference but not quite knowing how.
Phone calls to catch up.
Visits twice a year.
A nice boy, a happy girl.
Something blue, something borrowed.
More mouths to feed, more souls to love.
Coffee and wrinkles.
Fighting to stay in love.
Fighting to stay alive.
These thoughts overwhelm me.
Thinking of the other side places a weighted and anxious ball in the pit of my gut.
So today instead of looking back and instead of looking forward, I choose to look down.
I see the wooden beams of the bridge, smooth and nailed carefully together.
Through the cracks of the wood I notice the raging river below.
The water looks so cold. The movement looks so violent.
I am overcome with a feeling of relief that I am not in the river.
I notice again the wooden beams of the bridge, constructed so carefully.
I bend my knees and my feet feel the sturdiness of the bridge.
I can't help but smile.
And for the first time since I have been on the bridge,
I feel so overwhelmingly thankful that I even have a bridge at all,
that I have something to walk on during this journey.
I guess sometimes it takes looking down,
to realize what's lifting you up.
