Sometimes I cross the bridge, drawn by nostalgia, only to find our old neighborhood holds nothing now. The houses are just bricks and cement. Our parents—and we too—have moved on. These buildings, once home to countless others who also moved on, held meaning only because you and I lived within their stone walls.
Now they’re just a dozen unremarkable houses where strangers live, because we’ve moved on to something better.
No…you moved on to something better. And after some time, I did too.
This ride across the bridge that I take once in a while is nothing but a quirky groove my brain gets stuck on. I need to see it through, so I won’t be up all night thinking about something as silly as you and me not being together anymore—within these silly walls, this silly street, this old neighborhood of ours.
