Build a bridge, a blue bridge, an abstract bridge, a whatever bridge and get over it.
Take the path from A to B, metaphorically.
Three years ago, a sibling burnt bridges and now we can stand on opposite shores and wave a friendly hello, pretend the bridge is still there, but soot still lingers in the air.
Twenty? Yes, it has been twenty years. In the Fall of 1991, believing we had repaired a bridge, my daughter’s father and I remarried only to split up six weeks later. And now that we are “grandma” and “grandpa” to two precious babes and we are kind to each other, I feel an old sad river flow between us, with banks cut too deep to cross.
Love flows in ink across envelopes lost two days in the post to bring a smile.
A special friendship endures time, crossing a bridge made of telephone lines.
I will get from A to B, achieve the goals I cannot see and someday be set free.
Thank you for viewing my art!