Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Mending Bridges

It takes a big man to reach across crumbled planks and say, I was wrong, I'm sorry.

To say, look here, I brought a hammer and nails, a few boards I found behind the garage. I should have done this a long time ago, the first day we met. But at least starting from now you'll be able to walk from that bank there to this bank here, no matter where you are. I promised I would do this from the beginning. But the truth is, I'm not a person who nails down fresh planks. I'm the person who plants dynamite under the span at night. I'm the person who doesn't understand why the next day everyone climbs into the other guy's boat instead of scrambling across the remains of the bridge I just blew up. After all, you can still walk part way across the river before you have to turn around.

Until today, I had a box of matches in my pocket, ready to light up that battered bridge.













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