A Bridge, Held Open Today I sit with something like relief, you let me in, if only for a breath, a door cracked open after so much quiet, and I walked through it gently, glad to help. I don’t know what you’re carrying these days, the weight you haven’t said, the load unnamed, but I know love has never left the room, and gratitude still calls me by your name. Even distant, even brief, even small, a few words reaching out is still a bridge. I’ve held the hope of it in open hands, waiting at the edge, and at the ridge. You are the light. I’ve watched for you so long, steady in the dark, refusing to go dim. Not an ending but a place to walk toward, the far edge of the tunnel, glowing, and it’s him, it’s you, it’s always been you at the end of it. And the bridge, I don’t just hold it, I am building it, plank by plank, with patience as my tool. Not to cross alone and wave from the other side, but to walk it together, step for step, both of us, you moving toward the light, me moving toward you, meeting somewhere in the middle of what we’re making. Not rushing you. Not needing it complete. Just grateful for the ground we found today, a single step, however far apart, still counts as walking the same way, toward the light, across the bridge, together.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​