She paused in her walk across the bridge to have a good long stare at the river below, feeling like shattered glass, the pieces scattered in all directions from the point of impact, and she left to gather the chards from crevices and underbellies. It wasn't her heart that was broken -- she'd felt that before, the suffocating knot in the pit of the soul, the despair...no, this was a blow to the shell, an invitation to expand.
Still, it was painful. The white anger that constricted her wrists and ankles was not directed at him so much as at herself, her own self-imagined shortcomings, and her inability to accept her own reaction, drop it and move on. Brown with mud and swift in its journey through the city, this river was no longer the gentle, innocent waters that tumbled playfully through quaint German villages. She breathed its energy into the depths of her lungs then broke her communion and continued on her way.
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