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It is glowing in the night, reaching over the river, and two banks it connects sometimes seem far away. The bridge, the river, what are those? Perhaps they are strands between two worlds, for spirits to sail under them on boats rocked by fast, dark waters framed by two slopes of rock, dirt and sand.

One side is home, always the same, slow and low burning longing desire for a return. Memories and past waiting to embrace softly, childhood, times which seem better than they were. Springs under linden crowns, white paint on cherry tree trunks, and cool air breezing between the walls of adobe and mud.

The other side looked necessary. That is where the studies and work are, new people and streets are met. In the beginning, it was grey, then it became fresh and vibrant. It is where at least near future is, the tangible and visible one. There is also a face, friendly and kind and lovely.

The bridge has been there to connect everything. Often, I have switched between the shores. That is something I still do. Sometimes I have an impression that those two parts are moving away, stretching me between each other. Shouldn’t one be fine with the other? Isn’t that what rainbows are for, to rise and embrace sunshine and rain at the same time? This bridge should bring them together, just as it harvests all the colours from the cup of light.

Night can shine as bright as day. All it takes is a sparkle of essence and variety to set the darkness on fire.

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