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At the Bridge

The light was dim, but the air was sweet and warm. Though twilight was fading to dusk, the stars seemed to sharpen, and their glances lit the water under the bridge as a second sky in an underwater world. To the side of one end of the bridge was a great tree, gnarled and thick, whose branches stretched out ever to the sky in a wise and weary way. In its younger days the skin of the tree was smooth, but countless years of lovers carvings scarred its face with hearts and names, ever stretching by the slow growth of the old tree. In this way, love seemed to grow, rather than fade with time, she mused. But the names were often obscured by time, or forgotten, leaving only a scar upon life. Perhaps so it is with all love, she wondered. Expanding, always growing, yet gradually shedding the names and moments that defined it. Perhaps in the end there will be nothing left but love, and the scars it left upon this old three. She started from her musings to the sound of footsteps echoing off the water.

She crouched down behind a thick, crackly bush in case the footsteps came from the bridge. She waited, still, neither excited or intrigued, but watchful. The footsteps slowed, stopped, changed direction, then passed onto the hard concrete of the bridge. She waited and watched as outline of a young-looking man suddenly passed onto the bridge. She was to the left of the bridge, opposite the moon, which was on her right, and which cast a silver silhouette of his long throat and softly curving chin and forehead. The nose was straight and perfect. Her fledgling curiosity beat its little wings against her heart, and the space between his footsteps now became a bitter silence.

Until they stopped, and he turned to lean against the white railing, facing her, downstream of the bridge. She held her breath, afraid he’d seen her. Of course, she wasn’t sure she didn’t want him to see her. Why was he here anyway? Did people traverse often on this holy midnight ground of hers? Was he here for the same reason as her?

She almost shifted in the bushes to get a better look when she heard another set of footsteps. Not confident, slow footsteps like before, but as excited and as cautious as her own pulse. It seemed almost unreal as the smooth shadowy form of [K] emerged from the darkness across the bridge. [K]? Impossible. There was no way…
But who was the boy? [EM] locked up, not daring to move and disturb this unreal dream. It was a gentle, careful dance the two lovers made on the bridge and yet it seemed all too natural. [K]’s normally confident and shaded disposition melted away into soft unsurety and bright eagerness. She and her lover now stood an arm’s length, touching and holding only with their eyes, passing scant whispers in the silence.





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This article has 5 comments. Post your own now!

PaigeStreet This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Nov. 29, 2011 at 9:36 pm
This is part two of At the Bridge, to find the its pair, go to At the Bridge Part 1
 
LifesIllusion said...
Nov. 29, 2011 at 8:20 pm
This piece is so beautiful. The imagery is just amazing. I have nothing I would change abou this. It is perfect just the way it is for me. Definitly 5/5 stars
 
PaigeStreet This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Nov. 29, 2011 at 9:35 pm
Thank you! 
 
musicispassion said...
Aug. 5, 2011 at 12:58 am
beautiful.
 
RheaD.Ravenfinger This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jun. 18, 2011 at 5:34 pm
:J I love this. It's beautiful. Beautiful. :J
 
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