I remember walking across the town barefoot, looking for nothing.
Crossing bridges, huge bridges. It carried the weight of overburdened trucks at night and ethereal dewdrops at morning equally well.
Some bridges looked masculine while some looked beautifully feminine. Iron-willed and trenchant.
I leaned on the edge of a bridge and saw rimless horizon with the sun setting in its pride, birds making their way back home.
And, for a moment, everything just froze.
I saw silence tiptoeing with time.
That evening, I witnessed a strong structure and fragile soul under the dim spotlight of the setting sun. Everything stood in grandeur. I saw a horde of awestruck fellows admiring the bridge and the captivating Sunset.
The river beneath, remained vague.
And so did I.