The other day I was asked, "do you burn bridges?" which made me stop to think.
I look back at all the bridges I've built in my life and sadly say, no, most of them are not still standing. Did I burn them all? Well yeah, some of them I burned, rejoicing as they crackled and crumbled in front of me.
Some, I regret lighting that match.
Others, I wasn't even the arson responsible for all the smoke in the sky. I watched my beautiful creation go up in flames and my tiny pail of water did nothing to ease the scorching pain.
Some of those bridges were already on fire when I started crossing them. But I bounded across giving no care or second thought to the singed edges.
Some started burning when I was still standing in the middle of them. And when that happens, what do you do? Keep going or turn back?
Then there are the bridges that I look at and there is no smoldering coals or dampened ashes, but they are gone; rotten and decrepit, decaying into an unrecognizable form. This destruction was not perpetuated by a can of gasoline and a match; not even a spark. There was no explosion, no catastrophic event; just the quiet destruction of neglect. When the weeds grew in the ornately carved cracks or each archway and when small insects began to gnaw away at the support beams, nothing was done. And without maintenance, the majestic bridge that took careful years to construct, deteriorated without a second thought.
Those are the bridges that I regret destroying, because those are the bridges that are the hardest to repair. Illogically, burned bridges are sometimes easier to fix.
But, we aren't really talking about bridges, are we?