When I walk across a bridge, it calls me. The deep.I have to hold my breath and quicken my step.Stil

When I walk across a bridge, it calls me. The deep.I have to hold my breath and quicken my step.Still I die a little.Each time.The bridge across the railway, where trains roar past like caterpillar trolls.The bridge over the vanished river, long since paved over, sensed only by the faint tremble of my legs whenever I pass over it.The long bridge leading out of town, where I go by car, by bus, by rail.What is it with heights that call to us? Or is it just me? Am I the only one that feels the urge to step up on the railing and fall? To close my eyes and drift apart like snowflakes?I was a girl once, before I became a woman.I was a girl once, and I crossed a bridge.Not the metal walkway of the roaring trains.Not the pretender-bridge of downtown.Not the huge concrete span that sits heavily upon the soil.A small bridge. An old bridge.A bridge that smelled of dank moss and winter apples.The bridge to the forest.I was a girl once, and I went into the Întuneric Pădure.I went into the dark forest because I was curious.I crossed the bridge because I could, because people had told me not to.I was a girl once that never did what she was told.You do not grow to become a woman. Becoming woman is cutting away at that girl you once were until all is gone but the shadow of your imagination.Still, I was a girl once, and I ran away to the Întuneric Pădure.I ran away from home because I had argued with my parents.I ran away to the dark forest because I was invincible.I was invincible because I was beautiful.People had told me so, and I believed them.Such a pretty girl, they’d say.Such golden locks.And behind their backs I’d steal coins from their purses and cookies from their jars.So I was a girl once, and I went into the Întuneric Pădure.I crossed the bridge and followed the path into the darkness.I followed the path until my legs grew tired and I spotted the house.Clothed in shadows but the windows were bright, and the door opened when I pushed the handle.So I went inside.Such a pretty girl.Such a tired girl. I had walked far, and look there was a table set for dinner.A dinner in an empty house.The meal still steaming.Such a shame, this lonely dinner, in this empty house.So I sat down and ate.Three empty chairs.One too tall my legs were dangling.One too short and cramped.The third, just my size. Just right.Three full plates.One too hot, burning my tongue with unknown spices.One too bland, like leftover porridge.One spiced just right, and I ate until I was full and sleepy.Who would blame me if they found me?A lonely girl in a dark forest.Who would blame me for sneaking into one of the beds to have a nap?Maybe not in the large bed, it was far too hard, like planks against my back.Maybe not in the small bed, it was far too soft, suffocatingly downy.But in the other one, there I could sleep, safe in the knowledge that I was a pretty girl, and nothing bad ever happened to pretty girls.Or so I had been told.Liars, the lot of them, and I’ll hang my death like a millstone around their necks.When I was a girl once, I slept in the Întuneric Pădure.I slept and I dreamt.I slept and I dreamt that I heard voices.Rough, male voices.“Someone has been sitting in my chair,” one growled.“Someone has been eating my food,” growled another.“Someone has been sleeping in my bed, and there she is!” the third shouted.So I ran.I was a girl once, and I fled into the Întuneric Pădure.I ran from musky stink and nightmare visions of hairy men.I ran from bruising fingers.I ran leaving strands of golden hair behind, the top of my dress torn, my invincibility shattered like the window I leapt through.I ran until my feet bled, until I saw the edge of the dark forest.Until I saw the bridge.You know the tales of course.I did too.If you go into the Întuneric Pădure, you might lose more than your way.But I was a girl, and I had nearly lost things I did not even know that I possessed.So I ran. Bare feet across the stone. The smell of old moss and dank waters surrounding me.I ran because I was afraid.I ran because I had trespassed, and for the first time I knew what that meant.The old, dark forest wanted me.It wanted the girl I was.The golden locks, bright in the darkness.The curious feet, light on dead leaves.But I ran.I ran across the stone bridge.I ran and did not listen to the shuffling sounds under it.I ran towards the city.Towards televisions and electric lights and concrete and steel.Towards the new.Where nightmares were just dreams and men were men and not hairy beasts.I ran across the stone bridge and I felt it.The tug.The sharp twinge.Of something left behind.My hair had been torn.My clothes had been shredded.My blood had been shed, and it all remained behind.Caught on reflections of a broken window.I ran across the stone bridge but I left the girl behind.With her sense of wonder.With her invincibility.I was a girl once, when I went into the Întuneric Pădure.But I returned to the city as a woman.Flat eyes.Wise to the wonders of the world.Lies, all of them.What is it with our childhood that calls to us? Or is it just me? Am I the only one that feels the urge to strip the skin of womanhood and run wild through the meadows like a little girl? To close my eyes and spin so hard the world spins with me?When I walk across a bridge, she calls me. The girl.I have to hold my breath and quicken my step.Still I die a little.Each time.One more layer shed.“Come to me,” she whispers, from under the bridge across the railway tracks.“There is beauty even in the terror,” her words rise through manholes in the street covering the vanished river.The long bridge leading out of town is silent. Only the rail stands there, inviting.I brace myself each time I drive across.One day my hands might turn the wheel.One day I might crash through twisted steel and fall.Like snowflakes.Like leaves.I was a girl once, before I became a woman.I was a girl once, and I crossed a bridge.The past never fully lets you go, you can only fight it.Resist the pull.One bridge at a time. -- source link

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