We remember moments, not days.
I don't remember the exact day I found the small village chapel
but I remember three dogs who greeted me in the chapel's backyard.
They were big, old and hardly walked.
Those were my unforgettable moments;
the old dogs, the colorful carpet of autumn leaves,
nice crispy air and peacefulness of a small and welcoming place.
This time I didn't meet the dogs. The backyard was neatly cleaned. Its cleanness was sad and not inviting.
But there was something new and unexpected.
There was the stature of a girl with a jar I didn't see before.
You come to places you like and expect them to be the same
but those places always betray you.
and they were awkward and strange. They were foreign and unknown.
They were my abyss and my prison, my escape and my hope.
They were my effort, my space where I could wander, learn, forget, fail.
before were words...
How many bridges did I cross in my life? Many.
Some were worth while to cross and some were not.
I returned back to some bridges and then regretted it.
And there were bridges I crossed and never looked back.
