I will be quiet on this bridge

That dreadful August, when I strangely longed to take a walk. The flying guitar. The guitar floated slowly, so slowly, like the longest long take scene I’ve ever seen. I praised the guitar over and over again. Beautiful, truly beautiful. If I were to be born again, I would be born upon the great river bridge made from the traces of the beach, from the tears she shed. On that long bridge, I would be quiet.