I was back to the old bridge.
A long forgotten bridge in the forest.
It was a railway bridge.
Now covered and hidden by grass and trees.
But what a beauty.
Rusty but strong.

I like heading out there.
Standing on the railing and looking down.
Down into a riverbed which dried out long ago.
I am there at least once a week.
Some urge always drags me there
to find some rest and some peace.
It is all so quiet there.
After some hours when I get back home I am thinking
“Another day on which I did not jump off the railing.”

– sanados