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Crossing Bridges
I sense I have crossed a bridge,
One where construction blocks my way back.
It’s a subtle change, really,
But it means too much to me.
I want to go back
(but do I really?)
Would I have been more cautious
If I truly did not want to cross the bridge:
Of course
I wanted to – I really did.
But now these subtle changes are scaring me
(Will this become a problem?)
I’m being over dramatic -
It’s not a big deal.
Lots of people have crossed this bridge,
some of my friends have already.
But then again, they expected to.
I did not. (Did I?)
Is this who I am?
Am I the type of person who crosses these bridges?
I suppose so, or else my surroundings lie.
Liers.
I didn’t think it would mean much,
But I sense it:
Just as subtly as one senses
a slight tremor of a car driving over a bridge:
a rumble.
Rumination will be the death of me,
If this walk isn’t already.
(Help?)
No, not yet -
You don’t need help yet.
When you start crossing bridges more frequently,
however,
you should seek advice.
But you’re okay.
It’s just one bridge.

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This poem is about experiencing something for the first time, and wanting to go back to the time before you experienced it. It's about growing up and gaining this new knowledge of something you never had before. It's up to the readers to determine what the "experience" is.