The Weight of a Soul (2)

The Weight of a Soul (2)

    © Hein Mönnig 2013

She weighed on him.
    As he sat on the edge of the unfinished bridge, he thought of the burden of memory.
    That night.
    The car.
    The rain.
    And so she was gone.
    Afterwards, he had stopped working on the bridge.
    It could not be completed without the resident engineer.
    Yes, he did find it ironic. Engineers, the eager beavers of humanity, building and constructing and fixing things.
    He had not been able to fix this.
    So, on many nights, he walked alone, to his bridge.
    The incomplete shell of a dream, with a ragged edge poking into the night sky, skeletal ribs of steel bars and concrete arcs peering into the void.
    He would stand on the uneven rim, peering into the insoluble vista, calculating the speed of a fall required to end it all.
    The weight of a bridge.
    Hundreds of thousands of tons.
    The weight of a man.
    Less, in every way.
    Durable, permanent concrete.
    Soft, brittle flesh.
    The moon shone on him.
    The night air shimmered, currents of cooling streams competing for flight paths.
    And as he stood on the edge, a breath of air touched his face, stroked his closed eyelids, and the gleam of moon and stars gave his shadow a slow ripple.
    He raised his palms slowly to the skies.
    His shadow behind him hinted at a crucifix, ready for the spilling of life.
    Just before he fixed his hands in their final position of finality, the moon softly kissed his eyes, and the night air stroked his lips, and she was with him.
    And he remembered.
    Her tilted head and berry-brown eyes, quietly laughing with him in his often-public silliness.
    The slow, warm pulse of life in her throat, delightful when he touched her there, gently.
    Her silky wrists, where he would plant a quiet kiss before cupping his mouth in her curved fingers, inhaling her.
    As her presence wafted over him — a quality no quantity of heavy steel and concrete could replace — he sank on his knees, silent tears gathering on his lips.
    And as his body added a little more weight to the massive half-bridge, his soul lifted and flew, weightless, caressed by moon and stars, the plumes of night air, and the sweet whispers of her eternal, soulful, infinite lightness.