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They claimed it would lead somewhere, that if I just kept walking, step by step, the end would reveal itself— a city of dreams, a home, and a reason. So I walked. I had faith in the planks beneath my feet, the steel and silence, the wind that whispered promises. I held hope in one hand and patience in the other. Counting each step like a prayer.
However, as I traveled farther, I realized— there were no signs or distant lights. There was no return greeting from the other side. Just sky, clouds, and emptiness. stretching beyond the last beam. It wasn't a mistake. It was not broken. It was merely unfinished. A bridge that was never finished. A journey without a landing.
I stood there with my toes at the edge. Wind presses against my face like truth. Was I naive to trust? Was the endeavor futile, and the time wasted? However, the more I looked back, the more I realized: I was no longer the person I used to be. Every step transformed me. Every pause taught me. Even if there was no evident conclusion, There had been meaning in the motion.
A bridge to nowhere continues to rise. It remains standing. It continues to dare to reach across the unknown. And perhaps that's the point. Not every road leads to a destination. Some lead to a perspective. Some lead to strengths you weren't aware you had. Some just teach you how to walk by yourself, how to trust the sound of your own breath. when there is no throng to support you.
So I stand there, not in regret, but with quiet understanding. Even a bridge to nowhere can become an area of arrival. Not to a destination, but to yourself.
