Bridge
Hearts as full as names scrawled on the Brooklyn bridge. Tons of steel and cables perfectly balanced hold their weight. Lost in a river of chipped paint and letters people flow by endlessly, back and forth, but never us. Never again. Unrequited loneliness. Unacknowledged betrayal. I searched the metal beams for the markered names, for proof that they existed. In the crowds of people, the passing time of infinity, In any of the moments Do you ever think of me?














