We built a bridge
out of chalk outlines,
soft lines drawn with our careful hands—
a meeting place of sorts,
where we approach without fear,
where breath is light and unburdened.

Our demons watch, restless,
lurking at both approaches,
waiting for tensions to appear,
but we ask the rain to come,
to wash, to erase,
to show them how we stand—
how we move freely
without breaking.

We are not in a hurry—
if the lines smudge, or
if the rain turns to flood,
we will draw again, again,
and again, if we have to—
slowly learning how to build
boundaries and bridges.

One day,
when the shape holds
and the bridge can carry us,
when we step forward
without shrinking back.
We will meet in the middle,
where the chalk fades into stone,
where the weight of the past
cannot pull us under.

And our demons—
forced to wait on each side—
will learn, at last,
how small they have become
here, at Boundary Bridge.