Bridges.


In a small and not so special city, there stood a bridge. Not a bridge of concrete or steel, but a bridge of glass. Stained glass made up the assembly of triangles of one of the strongest bridges known to man. The bridge stood strong through seasonal change, through icy frost bitten winters and chocolate melting summers, through soft breezy autumns and rainy, windy springs. The bridge stood through it all. I am a girl, or I once was. I am a woman to the human eye, but I am still a child on the inside. I, like a bridge, stand tall, I may only be seventeen, and I may only be five feet, zero inches, but I stand tall. I let the snow freeze my toes and the wind and rain frizz my hair, I let the summer sweat off my make-up and I am made up of emotion, experience and imagination. I sometimes lack common sense, but like I bridge, I never lose my balance. I am harmless, but like a bridge, I cause fear, like a bridge, I cause enjoyment. Like a bridge, I am buried in this earth, I stand tall, I will be here, until it’s time for the earth to knock me down. Like a bridge, I am up, others will attempt to knock me down, but I stand tall, until the day I hear Nature call.