The bridge

I stand at the start of the bridge,

shadows whispering my name.

The city sleeps, but my thoughts don’t.

They crawl beneath my skin like flame.

The water below looks peaceful...

too peaceful for the noise in my head.

And I wonder if silence...

is something I’d find if I fell instead.

But the wind tells me stories

of those who made it through...

and for a moment I pause —

because maybe... I still could too.

(soft piano swells)

This bridge knows my secrets,

it’s seen my wars and my cries.

But every time I reach the edge,

something inside still tries.

I’m not the same boy I was

when I wanted to let go that night —

’cause I’m still here... breathing,

and that’s my quiet fight.

(instrumental rises — faint thunder, soft strings)

Maybe healing isn’t sunlight...

maybe it’s just the rain not stinging as much.

Maybe survival’s not loud —

just staying in touch

with the part of you that still hopes,

still breathes,

still fights,

even when the bridge feels endless...

and your soul just wants to leave.

(music fades, only river sound remains)

This bridge saw me break,

but it also saw me stand.

The same hands that almost let go...

learned how to hold again.

So I walk — one step, then another,

toward the side I’ve never been...

and whisper to the night —

“I made it further this time... I’m still in.”