Sometimes silence guides our minds

We used to sit on the edge of the bridge, legs dangling over the muddy water, holding one umbrella each. Rain soaked and pruned our feet into white chunks of slippery skin. We always let them shrivel up because that meant we got to go home, soak our feet in warm water and feel all the heat creep back into our bones. That slow, inching feeling of blood running back through our veins, we lived for that.

We spent most rainy days there. On that bridge, where the trees were extra green, and the air extra cold. It was simple things like throwing rocks into the river, finding reasons to wear our favourite jackets, and talking where no one else could hear that made us happiest.

We were complete opposites. Her in white frilly socks and pink umbrella, and me not wearing any socks at all under my tattered brown shoes. We were so different, but we knew each other better than anyone else. We held hands when we walked home, we called the other in the middle of the night if one of us couldn't get to sleep, and we weren't afraid to get mad if the other was being stupid.

I was so foolish to think that life would give someone to me so generously. And even more foolish to believe that it would last.

I sit alone on the bridge, legs dangling over the muddy water, holding one umbrella. I let my feet shrivel up and feel the chill seep into my bones. That slow, inching feeling of blood disappearing from my veins, I wanted it to take over and spread throughout my body, and never feel warmth again.