The Bridge Where Silence Sings Your Name

I have carried the city in my marrow for too long—its neon pulse, its concrete breath, a thousand hurried footsteps that never quite reached home. Now I stand here, where the world dissolves into velvet green and silver light.
The bridge sways beneath me like a slow-motion heartbeat, humming an ancient song of wind and wire. My fingers brush cold steel; my skin remembers your touch from three winters ago—a ghost sensation that lingers in the curve of my spine. I can still feel how you used to trace the map of my palm with your thumb while we sat on fire escapes under a smog-veiled moon.
I have come here to unlearn us, yet every gust of wind feels like your breath against my neck—soft, insistent, almost tactile in its tenderness. The mist wraps around me like an oversized sweater you once forgot at my apartment; it is heavy with scent and memory, a humid embrace that pulls me closer to the earth.
I walk toward nothing and everything all at once. I am not searching for answers, but for silence loud enough to drown out your voice in my head. Yet here, between two mountains and one fragile path, I realize you are no longer an absence—you have become part of the atmosphere. Every step is a rhyme; every breath is a stanza.
I close my eyes and let myself tilt toward the valley's depth. In this suspended moment, we are not apart but overlapping—two souls crossing the same invisible bridge in different centuries.

Editor: Lyric