You stood across the river, gold in hand,
A chest of diamonds gleaming in the light.
Come cross, you said. Together we will stand
And share the treasure. Everything is right.

I trusted not your riches, but your word—
The only coin you placed inside my palm.
We built a bridge where every promise stirred,
A wooden path so steady and so calm.

Then silence fell like fog upon the stream.
No warning, no goodbye, no falling rain—
Just empty air where once there was a dream,
And I was left to knock and knock in vain.

The river whispered nothing as it flowed.
I washed my face, I let the cool wind blow.
I did not curse the bridge that now was owed
To ash and smoke and waters down below.

The bridge has burned, I told the rising sun.
The river flows, and I will flow along.
I mourned what we had lost, but when it was done,
I learned to live without your voice or song.

Then from the blue, you called my name again—
Let’s pick it up! Remember what we planned?
You spoke as if no time had left a stain,
As if you held an unburning in your hand.

But fire does not answer to a wish.
A bridge of ash cannot be built anew
Just because you miss the old warm fish
That swam beneath the planks you cut in two.

I tried. I asked what happened in the dark.
You shrugged. You promised gold and gems once more.
But every question landed like a spark
On ground too cold to kindle what we wore.

So I moved on. No anger, just a sigh.
No judgment tied a rope around my chest.
A bridge that burns is not a lie—
It’s just a choice that puts one soul to rest.

So here’s the lesson, plain as river stone:
Do not burn bridges thinking they’ll unburn.
The one you leave may build a world alone,
And when you come back—find they will not return.

The river flows. The sun still sets and climbs.
But people, unlike water, learn to leave.
And silence, once broken, many times
Is all the answer that you’ll ever receive.