She looked down into the water below. It lapped at the pylons of the bridge. Was it high enough? Was the water shallow enough? Would anyone miss her or care that she was gone? So many questions and no one to answer them. The loneliness was overwhelming. she leaned forward until only the tips of her fingers held onto the rail behind her. A tear rolled from her cheek. She watched it fall and disappear into the dark water below.
She looked out over the water and saw him. She got her binoculars out and took a closer look. It was, indeed the man of her dreams whose face she had seen countless nights in her fantasies. Now, here he was, about to commit suicide and there was nothing she would do.
And he said, “It is that which is easy to slip from. Some of them will cross like lightening, like wind, like a bird, like the finest horses or camels, some of them will be lacerated and then let go, and some of the will be pushed into the fire of hell.”
There are bridges in life – that which join one part of life to another – the thing is, you don’t always know when you are crossing a bridge – you can’t alway look down and know where you are going or even that you are on a bridge. It would be cool to always know and to be able to look over the edge with confidence .
stone wall stretched across 2 shores
a hurdle you have to get over
cross that once you get to it they say
a part of a song
the london one fell down in the rhymes
of my childhood
where oh where does this word lead
and where does it stand over the waters
of this life?
She walked gracefully through the rain. Her umbrella obscured her eyes from the view of any passer-by. when she reached he bridge she took out a coin from her pocket and tossed it over.
We’re building a bridge between our differences and our distances. We’re setting up our lives to run their courses harmoniously and in sync, because even though we live worlds apart and have been warned of our doomed fate, our deepest desire is to build our bridge in our love so we can live to rejoice in our differences and celebrate a future together.
Across rivers and ponds and waters so free, that’s what it all meant. Nothing too complicated. It was a bridge. It was a simple symbol, sure, perhaps even hackneyed, but it was innovative in a sense. If you’ve never experienced water, what reason would you have for experiencing a bridge?
i will continue my search for a bridge, a hill, something exhilarating so that i can experience my ride to the fullest. poor old arizona, full of nothing but flat and dry.
Burned and burgeoning, wooden sudden oughtant not be built over an infrequented chasm. Not your choice where they are, but it’s yours to cross the rickety ones. This is not Indian Jones, it’s real life.
he looked at her big moss-green eyes. her face was desperately clinging to a stern form, but her eyes told him a different story. a whole other truth. he closed his, and sighed. the bridge between them was crumbling apart.
He sat calmly, waiting for his love to arrive and sweep him off his feet. His body ached, craving a warm blanket and soft bed, and maybe even a simple meal. His stomach gurgled as he sighed. In his mind, he needed to cross the bridge he loomed in front of. Taking that first step would be the hardest part…
He sat on the edge of the bridge staring viciously into the black water. He was not aware of the girl standing behind him until she was already sitting beside him on the edge of the bridge, but when he did see her, he paid no attention to her, as if he’d been expecting her all this time.
How pertinent your words seem to be these past few days. The cactus reminded m of the buzzard who preys on the living. The bridge, on how they need to build one and get over whatever their issues with the world seem to be. Clearly they are the unloved and unlovable, and that is why they are so grey and horrid.
Cry a river, build a bridge and get over it
Words easier said than done
Nothing can change as fast as you want it to
You have to suck it up and deal with it
If you’re a fighter, you’ll get through
They said “don’t burn any bridges” –
but really, I just want to burn
your fingerprints off my body,
your sticky, vodka-scented breath
off of my neck
and your face out of my dreams.
I stood there, in the morning sunshine, as I did every morning. The bridge was the only place I could escape to, to get away from my parents fighting, and my brothers evil smile.
Simon and Garfunkel seem to say it best, “bridge over troubled water”. I don’t know what that means, but I like it. Maybe it’s the pathway to happiness, you can arise above the water that troubles you. If only I could find this bridge, or perhaps I am the one who needs to build it.
I build bridges and burn them, I build them and destroy them, never do I keep them. . . why? Because I’m never looking back, always looking forward, never going back.
I sort to build a bridge between our two hearts
to show you the power of my affection
but instead it turned out as a bloody lighthouse
– it’s in completely the wrong erection – I mean direction
Standing at the top of the bridge in the pouring rain, looking down at the water beneath me. My feet are an inch away from falling. I jump, hoping this will be the end of pain. But I awaken in a white room and my body feels numb. This was, indeed, a big mistake. One I can’t fix or take back; all I can do is wish.
I stumbled a bit and almost lost my balance. I watched as a rock, much bigger then my trembling heart, fell down, down until it was nothing but a fleck of gray in the river. That can be me, I thought. That can be me. Just another body floating in the endless sea of life. Maybe I don’t want to be “just another body”. Maybe I want to be different. And this is the only way I can think of to make that come true. My foot had finally fallen from the side of the bridge, and I was free at last. All I remember is falling, falling and never quite reaching the light.
God has provided me with a bridge to a new world, which is just another way of saying, a new way of looking at the old world in a brand new way. I am crossing over a river in a metaphorical way to a brand new life.
Bridge the card game or bridge, like, as in bridge over trouble waters? Bridges of Madison County. Bridge of the Nose. Bridge Bridge Bridge. A nick name for Bridgette. Some of the best photos I’ve seen are of bridges. My favorite bridge is the Lulling Bridge in Louisiana :) We would always cross it when we had to go from our city of Houma to New Orleans. I never see it any m ore now that I live in Arkansas :|
I used to love the Whitestone Bridge or rather being in a park below the bridge–looking up through the silver arcs and chains of steel and the mini-cars traveling in their lives from Queens to the Bronx while I counted leaves on the ground.
You often have to cross a bridge to get to the next chapter of your life. It may be a treacherous journey, or a simple stroll over calm waters, but you will only find out if you try.
The river holds secrets that only the fish and the swimmers know. I have tasted its waters and hid beneath its depths, surfacing only to watch the cars on the bridge and wonder where they are headed that could possibly beat this.
i love bridges and i once dreamed of have dinnner on one with my love hope that it comes true i would love this day so much and would never ever ever forget it cause it’ll be a dream come true love him so much
peace out
lovehurts102
Bridge is a game I played in college to pass the time. A waste of time it was in fact, despite the efforts of so many to make it respectable. Points systems, etc. Bridges collapse. Some bridges are in the moutn. Others are over water or over nothing. Fighting over nothing makes no sense.
There was something there, hiding in the shadows and feasting on the souls that seekes shelter from the wind. It blew them in circles, higher and higher until the colors of reds and purples matched the only black, never allowing them to cross to the next body they wished to inhabit.
London bridge is falling down… I loved playing that when I was a kid. Bridge… hmm. All the bridges out of Maine and into Vermont/New Hampshire are green. I always love going through the big green bridges because it means I’m either leaving home or coming home.
the bridge was covered at one end by mist. people would walk over the bridge and never be seen again. Thats what happened to jane. Bye jane.
teeth span river trasin forth train road busy clogged fast tall wide high water city road dentist computer jump quick
burn the bridge of my past.
this year i will never look back.
She looked down into the water below. It lapped at the pylons of the bridge. Was it high enough? Was the water shallow enough? Would anyone miss her or care that she was gone? So many questions and no one to answer them. The loneliness was overwhelming. she leaned forward until only the tips of her fingers held onto the rail behind her. A tear rolled from her cheek. She watched it fall and disappear into the dark water below.
She looked out over the water and saw him. She got her binoculars out and took a closer look. It was, indeed the man of her dreams whose face she had seen countless nights in her fantasies. Now, here he was, about to commit suicide and there was nothing she would do.
They asked, “What is the bridge?”
And he said, “It is that which is easy to slip from. Some of them will cross like lightening, like wind, like a bird, like the finest horses or camels, some of them will be lacerated and then let go, and some of the will be pushed into the fire of hell.”
on separate ends of the conversation as the tension builds we each have a final thing to say.
“punk ass”
“punk shit”
and the bridge has been built.
There are bridges in life – that which join one part of life to another – the thing is, you don’t always know when you are crossing a bridge – you can’t alway look down and know where you are going or even that you are on a bridge. It would be cool to always know and to be able to look over the edge with confidence .
stone wall stretched across 2 shores
a hurdle you have to get over
cross that once you get to it they say
a part of a song
the london one fell down in the rhymes
of my childhood
where oh where does this word lead
and where does it stand over the waters
of this life?
She walked gracefully through the rain. Her umbrella obscured her eyes from the view of any passer-by. when she reached he bridge she took out a coin from her pocket and tossed it over.
We’re building a bridge between our differences and our distances. We’re setting up our lives to run their courses harmoniously and in sync, because even though we live worlds apart and have been warned of our doomed fate, our deepest desire is to build our bridge in our love so we can live to rejoice in our differences and celebrate a future together.
Across rivers and ponds and waters so free, that’s what it all meant. Nothing too complicated. It was a bridge. It was a simple symbol, sure, perhaps even hackneyed, but it was innovative in a sense. If you’ve never experienced water, what reason would you have for experiencing a bridge?
i will continue my search for a bridge, a hill, something exhilarating so that i can experience my ride to the fullest. poor old arizona, full of nothing but flat and dry.
Burned and burgeoning, wooden sudden oughtant not be built over an infrequented chasm. Not your choice where they are, but it’s yours to cross the rickety ones. This is not Indian Jones, it’s real life.
he looked at her big moss-green eyes. her face was desperately clinging to a stern form, but her eyes told him a different story. a whole other truth. he closed his, and sighed. the bridge between them was crumbling apart.
He sat calmly, waiting for his love to arrive and sweep him off his feet. His body ached, craving a warm blanket and soft bed, and maybe even a simple meal. His stomach gurgled as he sighed. In his mind, he needed to cross the bridge he loomed in front of. Taking that first step would be the hardest part…
I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than the burning of that bridge.
He sat on the edge of the bridge staring viciously into the black water. He was not aware of the girl standing behind him until she was already sitting beside him on the edge of the bridge, but when he did see her, he paid no attention to her, as if he’d been expecting her all this time.
How pertinent your words seem to be these past few days. The cactus reminded m of the buzzard who preys on the living. The bridge, on how they need to build one and get over whatever their issues with the world seem to be. Clearly they are the unloved and unlovable, and that is why they are so grey and horrid.
Cry a river, build a bridge and get over it
Words easier said than done
Nothing can change as fast as you want it to
You have to suck it up and deal with it
If you’re a fighter, you’ll get through
They said “don’t burn any bridges” –
but really, I just want to burn
your fingerprints off my body,
your sticky, vodka-scented breath
off of my neck
and your face out of my dreams.
Is that too much to ask?
I stood there, in the morning sunshine, as I did every morning. The bridge was the only place I could escape to, to get away from my parents fighting, and my brothers evil smile.
Apon the long bridge was a broken bit, in which a car crash had occured, not only a car crash but this one involved Justin Beiber! He fell of a cliff!
rideau, 2 minutes
tes tics
en somme
ai-je ta main
Simon and Garfunkel seem to say it best, “bridge over troubled water”. I don’t know what that means, but I like it. Maybe it’s the pathway to happiness, you can arise above the water that troubles you. If only I could find this bridge, or perhaps I am the one who needs to build it.
I build bridges and burn them, I build them and destroy them, never do I keep them. . . why? Because I’m never looking back, always looking forward, never going back.
I sort to build a bridge between our two hearts
to show you the power of my affection
but instead it turned out as a bloody lighthouse
– it’s in completely the wrong erection – I mean direction
Standing at the top of the bridge in the pouring rain, looking down at the water beneath me. My feet are an inch away from falling. I jump, hoping this will be the end of pain. But I awaken in a white room and my body feels numb. This was, indeed, a big mistake. One I can’t fix or take back; all I can do is wish.
I stumbled a bit and almost lost my balance. I watched as a rock, much bigger then my trembling heart, fell down, down until it was nothing but a fleck of gray in the river. That can be me, I thought. That can be me. Just another body floating in the endless sea of life. Maybe I don’t want to be “just another body”. Maybe I want to be different. And this is the only way I can think of to make that come true. My foot had finally fallen from the side of the bridge, and I was free at last. All I remember is falling, falling and never quite reaching the light.
I think I’ll make it my New Year’s resolution to learn to play bridge. And make my boyfriend learn, too.
God has provided me with a bridge to a new world, which is just another way of saying, a new way of looking at the old world in a brand new way. I am crossing over a river in a metaphorical way to a brand new life.
Bridge the card game or bridge, like, as in bridge over trouble waters? Bridges of Madison County. Bridge of the Nose. Bridge Bridge Bridge. A nick name for Bridgette. Some of the best photos I’ve seen are of bridges. My favorite bridge is the Lulling Bridge in Louisiana :) We would always cross it when we had to go from our city of Houma to New Orleans. I never see it any m ore now that I live in Arkansas :|
I used to love the Whitestone Bridge or rather being in a park below the bridge–looking up through the silver arcs and chains of steel and the mini-cars traveling in their lives from Queens to the Bronx while I counted leaves on the ground.
You often have to cross a bridge to get to the next chapter of your life. It may be a treacherous journey, or a simple stroll over calm waters, but you will only find out if you try.
The river holds secrets that only the fish and the swimmers know. I have tasted its waters and hid beneath its depths, surfacing only to watch the cars on the bridge and wonder where they are headed that could possibly beat this.
i love bridges and i once dreamed of have dinnner on one with my love hope that it comes true i would love this day so much and would never ever ever forget it cause it’ll be a dream come true love him so much
peace out
lovehurts102
The wooden bridge was old and needed repairs. But everyone in the city adored it. Why? Because it had been there since the begining.
Bridge is a game I played in college to pass the time. A waste of time it was in fact, despite the efforts of so many to make it respectable. Points systems, etc. Bridges collapse. Some bridges are in the moutn. Others are over water or over nothing. Fighting over nothing makes no sense.
There was something there, hiding in the shadows and feasting on the souls that seekes shelter from the wind. It blew them in circles, higher and higher until the colors of reds and purples matched the only black, never allowing them to cross to the next body they wished to inhabit.
London bridge is falling down… I loved playing that when I was a kid. Bridge… hmm. All the bridges out of Maine and into Vermont/New Hampshire are green. I always love going through the big green bridges because it means I’m either leaving home or coming home.