crossing a bridge


I stand on a bridge between vice and virtue, agonizing, grieving, worrying.

I cross the bridge to the other side, to the darkness, and look back at another darkness.

After I burn the bridge I depended on, it lights the way and shows me the pure beauty.

photo by kazuend
photo by kazuend

For Three Line Tales, Week Twelve


9 thoughts on “crossing a bridge

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