Jasmine Nicole

I could bridge the gap between you and me, but you burned down the bridge that once was there. Our bridge became a place that scared me because what I could see on the other side was not safe.

That bridge that once was easy to cross became tattered and unused. The abuse my feet endured to cross it became too much to bear.

While our bridge burned, I built another one. A smaller bridge that felt safe and maybe too small at times.

That bridge fell.

Another bridge was built, a bridge that I didn’t cross too often, but still, it felt fine. Made of something more study, yet empty.

Now I find myself facing our bridge again, or what could be. I can’t find myself wanting what may or may not lie on the other side. I can’t see; it’s dark and while the bridge seems stable, I won’t know until I take a step out there.

But that’s the question. Will I cross that bridge? Is it possible to build a bridge from ashes? A stable place to walk upon and cross again?