Trusting someone with your wounded heart is like crossing a weathered wooden rope bridge that spans across a raging, rocky river.

White knuckles grip the rough rope cables; palms burning with fear.

Legs shake in attempt to steady the bridge; twisting and swaying in all directions.

Pausing, observing and calculating the risk of every step.

Uncertainty pours out your skin like rain; as thoughts of danger from what maybe concealed beneath each wooden trestle.

Confidence builds as you inch further along the wayward bridge.

Until your foot lunges through the rotten wood disguised as security and something that you could count on.

Body collapsed by fear clenching on to anything you can hold on to just to keep you from falling to your death.

The decaying wood plummeting into the raging river below floods your mind with memories you thought you had forgotten.

You’ve made it too far to turn back now, yet the trek ahead seems like a hopeless endeavor.

Perspective shifts like the tracks from the bridge and you muster the strength to rise up once again.

Retreating would be equivalent to falling and you have no intention on dying today.