I crossed one today. It was long and hard, I thought it had been burnt years ago. I suppose a part of it was stone. I stumbled across the charred ruins.
Simon and Garfunkel – “Bridge Over Troubled Water” is a good song. Kind of reminds me of “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” or “You’ve Got a Friend.”
Add an “A” into the word and switch the “d” and the “g” and you have “brigade.” Or alternatively if spelling someone’s name, one might go with “Bridgette” or “Bridget.”
Personally, I think of “bridges” and I think of “jumpers.” Sad saps those chaps.
i build it, stretching farther and farther. expending resources and i’m too naive to burn it down. but i know that there is something to be preserved there. i would just hate to turn anything into waste.
“Build a bridge and get over it.” But building bridges takes time. And some are more creative. Some may attempt to dig tunnels or build planes. We’re not all the same. We don’t deal with things the same way. We can’t all build bridges, we wouldn’t get anywhere, so why do we assume as much?
This was a bridge between worlds but not really it was just a line just an invisible line that nobody knew existed, mostly. Some did. They called it the point of no return but that’s really all the attention they paid it. None of them, nobody. Everyone hated it, feared it, didn’t know it. It never struck any of them to study it, to figure out why it existed. To see that maybe, just maybe it wasn’t all that bad.
i always think of these in reference to burning them down. but the sensibility (among other, less noble of human conditions) that comes with age is increasingly reminding me of that ideal balance and harmony so attractive to strive over. its so easy to break time and occurrences into pieces. to splay life out like meat. but one feels at home and at peace with oneself – at least in general terms – once the lesson has been learned to unify and bring together the fragments of ones existence. to see a recognizable whole where the mass possesses a flow, complete with arcs, commas, and accents. life in phrases that develop to form a melody.
different lands connected by this structure towering the ebb below.
the ability to discover uncharted territory.
freedom.
The bridge to terabithia was a terrrible book that i didn’t feel that I could finish. It was incomplete – a childhood mess without the lessons that older literature often find within those black and white words. I preferred the one about the dog, Winn Dixie – he was more human to me in his doglike ways. Even so, we are all symbols, aren’t we. We are the Jesuses and Mohammeds of this new society.
There is a bridge in the middle of nowhere. You’ll often find yourself standing at the precipice of it, wondering whether or not to cross, or if, as many do, you should turn back. Don’t turn back. Cross the bridge and advance as a person, remaining untouched by your worries from the past.
Hallie
The bridge between ridges becomes riled and rigid.
She stood at the mouth of the bridge and considered her life. Across the bridge was the other side, waiting for her in the mist of the unknown. Taking a shaky breath, she took the first step and crossed the bridge that lay before her, never pausing to look back at the life she once had.
Hallie
I, unlike bridges, am not good at navigating the hinge between two lands, bringing them together and unifying. Bridges are man made and where I am from dilapidated and old they crumble and decay they are flawed and so are we.
Abby
I went under the bridge and found myself in a land full of wonder. Under the bridge is where my friends from the other side live. They live a life full of abundance and beauty. Where no one worries or cries or suffers from anxiety or depression. All is wonderful and no one ever gets hurt.
Were on a bridge charlie. Charlie, were on a bridge.
jess
She strolled along the bridge, holding his hand in hers. It was the happiest she’d felt since that day on the roof; the world had felt like it was caving in but here she felt at home. The tragic mistake she often worried about, however, was how long it would take him to forget.
I burn bridges to keep myself from going back.
i found a way to lose everything I once loved
and once loved me back.
I think I can run quick
before I feel the word breaking.
I will collapse feet first
before the taking.
Alone.
Without a scar..
Somehow, it scared me. Frightened me so deeply and throughly, I knew that I had been somewhat scarred for life.
Scarred.
Bridge.
Stupid bridge.
as if there was something that was left to be said. How could I not read into that. I mean, if there were some of the other things that came into the picture, I might have thought. I might have considered, but somehow, it didn’t matter anymore.
He plunged the sword deep, and blood rushed out from underneath the ribcage. He looked away, wishing he had another pair of arms to cover his ears. He did not want to hear the breathing, the words, so he listened to water rush underneath the bridge instead.
sometimes, when you cross a bridge, you have to burn it. otherwise, someone may come over it and then you’ll be sucked back in. things will be no different than they were before. worse even is when you yourself cross back over, forgetting why you left in the first place.
Bridge
Is there a bridge that can be built to cross the damage that has been done to our relationship by him abandoning me for so long? If there is, he will have to be the one to build it because I am tired of being the one to reach out.
She crossed the bridge. It was the one they had crossed so many times before. But now things were different. And no matter how many times she would walk across this bridge the fact would remain that she was alone and he was gone.
i looked across the bridge towards my future…the wood was rotten and splintering…my heart was racing and my head was spinning…i couldn’t cross…i was too afraid to see the bottom of the canyon and the speeding river below…
eR!N
r and i walked between the b and d handrails. a ge boat was in the water. bridge, the word.
MJ
The bridge to understanding one another is slippery, crowded, and very high. But I must scale it in order to find my way and help others along the way. Don’t forget to cross every bridge with a positive attitude!
Storm smiled. A bridge between the insanity indeed, he thought to himself. Part of that comment was to make Mist go away, and he knew it. But at the same time, there was a part of him that really didn’t want to reject Mist’s offer. He didn’t know it yet, but her offer was going to be the bridge between unhappiness and true, unbreakable happiness. Even if it would crumble under his feet, it would be truly worth it.
The bridge, it toward over me but I know what I must do. I am going to jump off of it. I don’t know why, it’s just a temptation, not to die just to… jump. I climb to the top and look down. It is a long fall but I don’t really care, the temptation is too strong. I jump.
As soon as I hit the icy water I scream letting water fill my mouth. My brain stops thinking, so instead of spitting it out like any sane person would I swallow it. And then open my mouth to breath only getting another mouthful of water. I swallow it. This happened one more time before I realized I had to stop. I needed oxygen. I started treading the water and took a breath of fresh air, fresh cold air.
I start swimming to where the rocky shore meets the murky water and I climb out only to shiver at the freezing air. Why did I jump off? The temptation had been very strong but for what reason? I know the answer but I don’t want to believe it.
I few minutes later I hear the sirens of a police car. The situation was bad enough and now the police had to get involved? The police-men get out of their car and come up to me with a blanket and worried expressions.
One of the men ask, “what happened, sweaty? You’re all wet. Please, tell us what happened.”
I can’t tell them what really happened and I can’t think of anything fake to tell them, so I start backing away. The man who spoke moved closer, but the closer he moved the farther I backed. The other man who had gotten out of the car started to run towards me, so I took off at a sprint. Faster than him I would run forever if I had to, he couldn’t get me, he couldn’t ask me his questions, and most certainly he couldn’t find out about Tony.
Amanda
The old bridge was moss covered and decaying. From the looks of it it was at least a hundred years old.
Muddypawprints
Something which connects us with an otherwise unreachable place by foot. I like crossing bridges because they tend to have good views unless they are in a forest surrounded by trees.
Carl
Over and over i go and i never get to where i’m going. i don’t know why this is happening but i like it I’m free I’m in this for the long run and it feels like i am a new person i go over it and now i find that all along this is what i need. On the other side all is new and this is what i mean when i say free.
josh nate
“When will you get over this and grow up?” She backed away but stared him down.
How was he going to bridge this divide? Running after her was the wrong thing. Standing here with his mouth open didn’t help either.
build a bridge and get over it. probably the saying i live by most. dwelling on the bad is so unhealthy. you can never move on if you dont GET OVER IT. even if it takes time, eventually you have to let th negative go so you can move forward.
Stephanie
I stopped and looked out over the water. It was a dreary day with the skies crying into the already grey river. I looked at my shoes sitting on the old worn river stones. Years ago someone had dragged them out of its depths and cemented them here brick by brick. I thought I about the bridge I was building at home and wondered if the man who did that felt that his bridge was just as impossible.
The bridge was in front of her, waiting to be crossed. Begging to be crossed. Daring to be crossed. But she couldn’t put one foot in front of the other. She just stared at the bridge, wondering what life would be like if she crossed to the other side. She imagined life might be better, but the uncertainty was enough to ground her. Would she ever get the courage to taste a different life?
Helen
i remember one of my old boyfriends saying water under the bridge. now i want to say that to him, after all the childish sulking.
kaorita
Standing on the brooklyn bridge she looked like a fantasy. Hair slightly blowing in the wind, the sun at her back lighting up her red hair like fire. The look of pure content played across her face, eyes closed with a smile on her lips. The best part? She was mine.
over to the other side. what ever I will find there. it may be better. it may not. any way I will cross over to see. have a look. know what I’m missing by staying here.
Camilla
“It’s water under the bridge, Tim” Andrew said. “Don’t worry about it. That whole sleeping with my wife and sabotaging my job promotion so you can get a raise? I can let it go. Wrecking my car and feeding chocolate to my dog till he hemorrhaged diarrhea all over my closet full of Armani suits? I totally forgive you.”
Andrew stared at him for a long time, seemingly waiting for a response. Tim just remained motionless. Eventually, Andrew’s discomfort moved him to begin shoveling wet soil onto Tim’s shallow grave.
Have I spun such a heart of fear in your soul that in the darkness of the night your body becomes still as the trees of winter. Forgive me. From this breath, kindness shall bridge the emptiness I created with love and when you must go once again, it will be in peace.
a bridge takes you from one place to another. it can cross any chasm, no matter how wide or how deep or how treacherous. just when you think you’re stuck on the side you came from, you see the bridge arcing into the distance. and then you know there’s a way across, if you can just haul yourself over it. you’ll be on the other side, finally. and that’s what a bridge is for.
I crossed one today. It was long and hard, I thought it had been burnt years ago. I suppose a part of it was stone. I stumbled across the charred ruins.
Simon and Garfunkel – “Bridge Over Troubled Water” is a good song. Kind of reminds me of “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” or “You’ve Got a Friend.”
Add an “A” into the word and switch the “d” and the “g” and you have “brigade.” Or alternatively if spelling someone’s name, one might go with “Bridgette” or “Bridget.”
Personally, I think of “bridges” and I think of “jumpers.” Sad saps those chaps.
i build it, stretching farther and farther. expending resources and i’m too naive to burn it down. but i know that there is something to be preserved there. i would just hate to turn anything into waste.
“Build a bridge and get over it.” But building bridges takes time. And some are more creative. Some may attempt to dig tunnels or build planes. We’re not all the same. We don’t deal with things the same way. We can’t all build bridges, we wouldn’t get anywhere, so why do we assume as much?
This was a bridge between worlds but not really it was just a line just an invisible line that nobody knew existed, mostly. Some did. They called it the point of no return but that’s really all the attention they paid it. None of them, nobody. Everyone hated it, feared it, didn’t know it. It never struck any of them to study it, to figure out why it existed. To see that maybe, just maybe it wasn’t all that bad.
i always think of these in reference to burning them down. but the sensibility (among other, less noble of human conditions) that comes with age is increasingly reminding me of that ideal balance and harmony so attractive to strive over. its so easy to break time and occurrences into pieces. to splay life out like meat. but one feels at home and at peace with oneself – at least in general terms – once the lesson has been learned to unify and bring together the fragments of ones existence. to see a recognizable whole where the mass possesses a flow, complete with arcs, commas, and accents. life in phrases that develop to form a melody.
different lands connected by this structure towering the ebb below.
the ability to discover uncharted territory.
freedom.
The bridge to terabithia was a terrrible book that i didn’t feel that I could finish. It was incomplete – a childhood mess without the lessons that older literature often find within those black and white words. I preferred the one about the dog, Winn Dixie – he was more human to me in his doglike ways. Even so, we are all symbols, aren’t we. We are the Jesuses and Mohammeds of this new society.
There is a bridge in the middle of nowhere. You’ll often find yourself standing at the precipice of it, wondering whether or not to cross, or if, as many do, you should turn back. Don’t turn back. Cross the bridge and advance as a person, remaining untouched by your worries from the past.
The bridge between ridges becomes riled and rigid.
She stood at the mouth of the bridge and considered her life. Across the bridge was the other side, waiting for her in the mist of the unknown. Taking a shaky breath, she took the first step and crossed the bridge that lay before her, never pausing to look back at the life she once had.
I, unlike bridges, am not good at navigating the hinge between two lands, bringing them together and unifying. Bridges are man made and where I am from dilapidated and old they crumble and decay they are flawed and so are we.
I went under the bridge and found myself in a land full of wonder. Under the bridge is where my friends from the other side live. They live a life full of abundance and beauty. Where no one worries or cries or suffers from anxiety or depression. All is wonderful and no one ever gets hurt.
Were on a bridge charlie. Charlie, were on a bridge.
She strolled along the bridge, holding his hand in hers. It was the happiest she’d felt since that day on the roof; the world had felt like it was caving in but here she felt at home. The tragic mistake she often worried about, however, was how long it would take him to forget.
I burn bridges to keep myself from going back.
i found a way to lose everything I once loved
and once loved me back.
I think I can run quick
before I feel the word breaking.
I will collapse feet first
before the taking.
Alone.
Without a scar..
It seems kind of twisted that jumping would pop right into my mind…
We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.
That was what he said. that was what he told me.
That was what I knew we wouldn’t do.
Somehow, it scared me. Frightened me so deeply and throughly, I knew that I had been somewhat scarred for life.
Scarred.
Bridge.
Stupid bridge.
as if there was something that was left to be said. How could I not read into that. I mean, if there were some of the other things that came into the picture, I might have thought. I might have considered, but somehow, it didn’t matter anymore.
He plunged the sword deep, and blood rushed out from underneath the ribcage. He looked away, wishing he had another pair of arms to cover his ears. He did not want to hear the breathing, the words, so he listened to water rush underneath the bridge instead.
sometimes, when you cross a bridge, you have to burn it. otherwise, someone may come over it and then you’ll be sucked back in. things will be no different than they were before. worse even is when you yourself cross back over, forgetting why you left in the first place.
Bridge
Is there a bridge that can be built to cross the damage that has been done to our relationship by him abandoning me for so long? If there is, he will have to be the one to build it because I am tired of being the one to reach out.
She crossed the bridge. It was the one they had crossed so many times before. But now things were different. And no matter how many times she would walk across this bridge the fact would remain that she was alone and he was gone.
i looked across the bridge towards my future…the wood was rotten and splintering…my heart was racing and my head was spinning…i couldn’t cross…i was too afraid to see the bottom of the canyon and the speeding river below…
r and i walked between the b and d handrails. a ge boat was in the water. bridge, the word.
The bridge to understanding one another is slippery, crowded, and very high. But I must scale it in order to find my way and help others along the way. Don’t forget to cross every bridge with a positive attitude!
Storm smiled. A bridge between the insanity indeed, he thought to himself. Part of that comment was to make Mist go away, and he knew it. But at the same time, there was a part of him that really didn’t want to reject Mist’s offer. He didn’t know it yet, but her offer was going to be the bridge between unhappiness and true, unbreakable happiness. Even if it would crumble under his feet, it would be truly worth it.
The bridge, it toward over me but I know what I must do. I am going to jump off of it. I don’t know why, it’s just a temptation, not to die just to… jump. I climb to the top and look down. It is a long fall but I don’t really care, the temptation is too strong. I jump.
As soon as I hit the icy water I scream letting water fill my mouth. My brain stops thinking, so instead of spitting it out like any sane person would I swallow it. And then open my mouth to breath only getting another mouthful of water. I swallow it. This happened one more time before I realized I had to stop. I needed oxygen. I started treading the water and took a breath of fresh air, fresh cold air.
I start swimming to where the rocky shore meets the murky water and I climb out only to shiver at the freezing air. Why did I jump off? The temptation had been very strong but for what reason? I know the answer but I don’t want to believe it.
I few minutes later I hear the sirens of a police car. The situation was bad enough and now the police had to get involved? The police-men get out of their car and come up to me with a blanket and worried expressions.
One of the men ask, “what happened, sweaty? You’re all wet. Please, tell us what happened.”
I can’t tell them what really happened and I can’t think of anything fake to tell them, so I start backing away. The man who spoke moved closer, but the closer he moved the farther I backed. The other man who had gotten out of the car started to run towards me, so I took off at a sprint. Faster than him I would run forever if I had to, he couldn’t get me, he couldn’t ask me his questions, and most certainly he couldn’t find out about Tony.
The old bridge was moss covered and decaying. From the looks of it it was at least a hundred years old.
Something which connects us with an otherwise unreachable place by foot. I like crossing bridges because they tend to have good views unless they are in a forest surrounded by trees.
Over and over i go and i never get to where i’m going. i don’t know why this is happening but i like it I’m free I’m in this for the long run and it feels like i am a new person i go over it and now i find that all along this is what i need. On the other side all is new and this is what i mean when i say free.
“When will you get over this and grow up?” She backed away but stared him down.
How was he going to bridge this divide? Running after her was the wrong thing. Standing here with his mouth open didn’t help either.
build a bridge and get over it. probably the saying i live by most. dwelling on the bad is so unhealthy. you can never move on if you dont GET OVER IT. even if it takes time, eventually you have to let th negative go so you can move forward.
I stopped and looked out over the water. It was a dreary day with the skies crying into the already grey river. I looked at my shoes sitting on the old worn river stones. Years ago someone had dragged them out of its depths and cemented them here brick by brick. I thought I about the bridge I was building at home and wondered if the man who did that felt that his bridge was just as impossible.
The bridge was in front of her, waiting to be crossed. Begging to be crossed. Daring to be crossed. But she couldn’t put one foot in front of the other. She just stared at the bridge, wondering what life would be like if she crossed to the other side. She imagined life might be better, but the uncertainty was enough to ground her. Would she ever get the courage to taste a different life?
i remember one of my old boyfriends saying water under the bridge. now i want to say that to him, after all the childish sulking.
Standing on the brooklyn bridge she looked like a fantasy. Hair slightly blowing in the wind, the sun at her back lighting up her red hair like fire. The look of pure content played across her face, eyes closed with a smile on her lips. The best part? She was mine.
over to the other side. what ever I will find there. it may be better. it may not. any way I will cross over to see. have a look. know what I’m missing by staying here.
“It’s water under the bridge, Tim” Andrew said. “Don’t worry about it. That whole sleeping with my wife and sabotaging my job promotion so you can get a raise? I can let it go. Wrecking my car and feeding chocolate to my dog till he hemorrhaged diarrhea all over my closet full of Armani suits? I totally forgive you.”
Andrew stared at him for a long time, seemingly waiting for a response. Tim just remained motionless. Eventually, Andrew’s discomfort moved him to begin shoveling wet soil onto Tim’s shallow grave.
strings attached
Have I spun such a heart of fear in your soul that in the darkness of the night your body becomes still as the trees of winter. Forgive me. From this breath, kindness shall bridge the emptiness I created with love and when you must go once again, it will be in peace.
a bridge takes you from one place to another. it can cross any chasm, no matter how wide or how deep or how treacherous. just when you think you’re stuck on the side you came from, you see the bridge arcing into the distance. and then you know there’s a way across, if you can just haul yourself over it. you’ll be on the other side, finally. and that’s what a bridge is for.