By Shiv Rayani
There’s a bridge where two worlds meet.
David’s was plentiful and prosperous. Hope’s depended on David.
They used to sit there shrouded under the Sunday night sky, feet dangling high above the moonlit estuary.
“What if I fall?” Hope asked whenever David jokingly nudged her forward.
“Then I’ll catch you, babe.”
Sunday. 10.30. David agreed to meet at the bridge. One last time. Not wanting tears or desperation anymore, Hope felt owed a final goodbye.
It was misty. The closer David got, the clearer it became. Hope was drunk, fecklessly tip-toeing around the edge.
“What if I fall, David? What if…”
Clearly shows the desperation and hopelessness of parting.