Without thinking, only feeling, I crossed this boardwalk time and time again. Mostly alone, occasionally with someone I cared enough to show. It’s been there. It will be there. I’ll cross again.
But what if I don’t? What if I can’t.
What if the trail, wet and green. Or covered with orange, red, brown of autumn. Or white and closed for winter. But never closed to me.
What if a farewell unanticipated? All too soon?
And the bench there, taken for granted. But it’s there that I compiled, determined, humbled and reconsidered. Then stood fortified to cross one more time.
Thank you, both. Thank you. For all the times I never said it.
I’ll cross again.