Looking for my bridge

{via}

Tonight I find myself in the midst of reading the work of one of the greatest poets of our generation for the first time. I kid you not, this man's work will be a part of our children's textbooks. More on that later though.

Maybe tomorrow.

For now I just find myself slightly frustrated with the tears in my eyes acting like baby birds resisting to fly from the nest. They keep peeking over. Glancing at the ground below, but refusing to fall. These tears are a mystery to me.

If they're not ready to fall, what are they doing there?

Are they there to mourn my childhood that seems to be all but gone a week before my nineteenth year's beginning? Are they for my dear cousin who has become but a stranger to me with her sudden awkward, skinny frailness? Are they for all those old friends who have changed so much I no longer know them, only familiar with their former selves?


Maybe.


Maybe to each attempt at explaining the sadness swelling inside me.  Individually and together.


Those older and wiser tell me this not knowing, this ever present state of confusion, is just a part of the ride in this storm called life.  I know they're right.

But oh how I wish I'd just drive under a bridge soon.

You know, that's my favorite part of driving in the rain. When you finally reach that bridge, and you're presented with a moment in which suddenly all of the chaos stops, you experience a clarity unlike any other.


And you know what? I have a feeling that soon there will be a bridge up ahead.


Always,
L.A.