The Bridge by A. N. Gretly

I never forget a face, nor a well woven lie; water under the bridge. A plash that rippled the still waters of my heart, and the waves, they carried everything to some distant shore, desolate, and grim. And the railway train took me away to a far away place in which I have found the remains of a forgotten future so vividly displayed like artefacts that were once of great value, now worth nothing at all. And the bums, they hover around like ghosts, droopy eyed, junky eyed, mad! But time doesn’t stop for anyone, or anything, it only halts at the very end, when it is too late, boy. The voyagers stopped and stared in bewilderment at the sights unfolding before them, they beheld the intimate details of the complexity of this grand structure, but even such things whither with time, they fade away at some point, leaving only traces of what once was. I never forget a face, nor a well woven lie; water under the bridge. I have missed him, the man in the long black coat. Even though I have known him for so long, I now fail to define his importance, his significance, sometimes I think he is my companion, other times I thing he is a darker version of myself. Oh, it does not matter any more. And as I stood under the bridge, I saw him limping across the street towards me, his face, still as pale as ever, as if he’s been bleeding for some time. This is it then, once again, we are united as one. I never forget a face, nor a well woven lie; water under the bridge; here’s to you, love, here’s to us.

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About Ahmed Gretly

Ahmed Nader Gretly. Construction/Site Engineer, fiction writer, poet, psychopath, researcher, a book addict, and a daydreamer from Cairo, Egypt. Currently doing Construction Project Management, MSc, at Heriot-Watt University, Edinburgh.
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