We pass over to see what's on the other side - They say that the grass is always greener and I haven't seen vibrant colors in so long. This melancholy feeling of fate and choice is paralyzing and uplifting.
Cross over the same spot that many before found a dead end carved out by a stream. Instead, they sat by the tallest tree and divulged their secrets - oh if the leaves could talk!
The water under the bridge lies beneath to be forgotten. But it flows steady so that deer and pheasants can sip; the splashing, rippling tide echoes like our footsteps as we pass into oblivion.
Once our feet hit the ground, we take note of those around: those who stayed behind are the dandelion seeds surrounding us, drifting in the wind. those who joined us are the trees lined along the path.
If you try to back-track, you'll find that the bridge can only be crossed once.