The Bridge

Photo by on

The wind had a chill that day, but it didn’t bite. The sun was out, and it made the early Winter afternoon crisp and hopeful. It was the middle of the week and in the middle of the day as I started to walk across the Manhattan Bridge to make it back on the other side before the sunset. There were copious amounts of caffeine in my veins because all I did those days was a bounce from coffee shop to a coffee shop. Still, I allowed myself to amble and take in the scene of the city behind the fencing. I smiled at myself as much as I smiled at the sky. I paused a few times to look at the sun’s reflection against the buildings behind me in Brooklyn — they bounced in a way that shouted, “let’s play,” even though the city was still mid hustle.

I continued to pause as my feet got closer to the Manhattan skyline, and I traced the horizon with my eyes as if I had it memorized in my heart. Once in a while, I would look down at the concrete beneath my feet and see the messages and graffiti speaking to the city. There were voices of activists, romantics, and believers down the entirety of the bridge — a connective tissue of New Yorkers who’ve all laid their feet on this earth. As the sun started to descend behind the highrises, I was getting closer to the edge, but I wasn’t going home just yet. I was still looking for my muse, and I wanted more of the sky. So I continued to chase the sun over to the west side of the city where the sun…