We must be careful you and me. Yes …I’m sure you agree, “Very careful,” you probably say too. Me as a writer and you as a psychologist; can we continue on the path together? Even if the path is getting treacherous ---of course it’s terrifying, sometimes, but after a while, we’ll be somewhere else. Don’t you agree? We’ll have made it, “don’t you think?”
You have to see how the path meanders in our lush green surroundings. “It’s beautiful!” But yes, sometimes the path seemingly looks like an illusion? ---hitting and missing, but usually only for a moment, not, “Get Out!” like you might say. That dead-end you see can simply be called a bridge instead.
“But what is the bridge to us, to connect or separate?” you might say. You might willingly leap across the bridge to keep the distance between the two of us.
But: “Below the bridge is a creek where the rocks are mossy and slippery; sharp and dangerous. It’s very dangerous,” I say, so desperate, just wanting to go back ---back to those nights where our moist breath on each other’s neck removed the past and also the future, as we lived … Now!
“We could fall on those mossy rocks below or a fate perhaps worse,” I continue, “We’ll slip and take two maybe three steps back, or you’ll look at your life without us."
We’ve walked quite a distance without an impasse, until, and it is only this hand-bridge with a few slippery obstacles that are now in front of us. We can’t take a step backwards, not now, please, not ever! I’m scared.”
“But …Aren’t creeks like this one that rejuvenate us formed by mad storms?” You say. “But isn’t that the contradiction in every system.” I say, and, “Look at that beauty as the creek repeats its beauty constantly.”
“But if we do, we must cross the bridge, past the slippery rocks below ---together." “No,” you say, and also, “look at those jagged rocks just underneath the surface waiting for a slip. That’s terrifying!
“Yes,” I say, “like me, they’re desperate; I saw the desperation immediately after I heard it. But …they’re just scared. Can’t you see that they’re trying to stick their heads out of the creek for a breath of air?” I try to explain. “We must also inhale deeply …decisions should come slowly.”
But, you might say, “The path is one skip and a hop away …from the stifling love I forced on you?” “But it always takes two,” I say. So the Writer cried not after the skip but after the hop across the mossy rocks and the hand-bridge ---as he realized he landed on the other side without her.
And while on the other side the writer could hear her ask, “What does the future around that corner look like for you?” And quickly he said, “It doesn’t look very bright, not without you. So ...nightly, I’ll scream at the silvery moon, “I love you.” And I’ll hear a dreamy return, “I love you too,” somewhere, as we continue on the path …together?
The End
