Building Bridges

 There was a girl who built bridges.

She built whole roads over rivers.

She sculpted magnificent structures.

She constructed entire worlds and never stopped.

Her legs were as strong as the iron beams she used,

and her arms were as steady as the paths she paved.

She worked too hard, too long, and too alone.

And sometimes she didn’t listen to what people told her,

even if they meant well enough.

Many people tried to help and got fed up,

and they let their anger creep into the words they spoke.

The people she built the bridges for said, “It’s not strong enough,”

and the people who wanted to build their own said, “You’re too slow,”

and the people who were supposed to pay said, “This isn’t worth the investment.”

 

And she was crushed,

so, she destroyed.

Every bridge she built, torn apart by her bare hands.

She yelled and screamed and thrashed,

until she was standing in the middle and realized there was no one there to catch her.

And she fell,

down,

            down,

                        down.

She let the river consume her.

The current took every last bit of her hopes and dreams and swallowed them whole.

She closed her eyes and gasped for air,

but only water filled her lungs.

She was cold, and she had given up.

 

And the people who heard it all,

who stood by and listened while people told her she wasn’t good enough, strong enough, or worth it,

looked on in sorrow.

They lamented, “If only they had realized the power.”

At first, the people thought they meant the power of her beautifully crafted bridges.

They thought they meant the power and strength of the girl they took for granted.

Slowly, they realized the onlookers meant the power of their own words.

The girl that had seemed so stubborn, so strong-willed, so brave,

had collapsed like her bridges,

under the weight of the wrong, heavy words.

And the ones who observed, but said nothing,

vowed to never let someone tear another dreamer down,

for fear that they would never see such Beauty in the world again.

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