At the End of the Bridge

 At the End of the Bridge,

I walked through so many quiet days carrying you with me — in whispered names, in half-remembered mornings, in the way certain light still made me think of you. The world kept moving. I kept looking back.

Every night I'd close my eyes and find you somewhere bright and free, waiting at the far end of a bridge that glowed with every color. People called it a story. I called it a promise.

And then, the way only dreams can — it became real. You were standing there, strong and whole, nothing weighing you down anymore. Your eyes found mine before I even called your name. You didn't wait. You never did.

You came running — the same way you always did — like no time had passed at all. Like you'd simply been keeping the spot warm. I held you close and you were exactly as I remembered. Warm. Real. Yours.

And we walked that bridge together, side by side, no goodbyes left between us. Just you and me, whole again, in the place where love never had to end.