There is a city, and it has a thousand names. I’ve heard some of them before; most are new to me. I know this city. I was born there.

All the roads I have walked in my life lead back there. These roads continue on, but I always stop in my hometown. Further on down the road, there is another city.

This city has no names. I know this city too. I will die here.

Between the city of names and the city without, there is a bridge. This bridge covers the gap between the two metropolises. Sometimes I think I know what is beneath it, but then I come to my senses. It doesn’t matter. It’s just a bridge.

I’m writing this to document my life. And my impending death. Someone will find this after I die. Tales like mine have a way of spreading.

This story has no comments.