The Bridge

It's warm enough to

Go outside.

But I don't.

The bridge is outside my window.

I hold the handle of the front door,

But it doesn't open.

Standing petrified.

The bridge is next to my door.

My throat is parched.

So, I walk to the cabinet,

It mocks me.

The bridge is within my reach.

Sitting at the table, I wait.

But she doesn't return.

I know she's not coming back.

The bridge is my love.

It took me only a few minutes

To then decide,

To visit her one last time.

The bridge is next to her stone.