'the bridge'

construction of the bridge has been progressing steadily. while in ordinary circumstances such a proclamation perhaps creates decent feelings or at least some degree of satisfied indifference, the current situation in fact produces two problems: firstly construction was not commissioned or permitted by the government and secondly, though environments of the first problem are often enough reason to nullify this second problem, the people of the soon-to-be-adjoined two lands do not want it. the first problem is not uncommon; architecture has long been applying itself to the landscape without sanction. there is a peculiarity, though, that arises from the rest: on every level the mere idea of constructing such an apparatus would appear beneficial. extrinsically, though, the people have always loved their water; for leisure, for business, or for travel, the tiny straight and the romantic feelings involved in the journey across it have seemed to elucidate a nostalgic proxy that appears to shorten its lateral distance in the minds of the people. the unfettered straight allowed for ease of passage, and a kinship between the swimmers of both sides floated towards the middle of the waters.

nevertheless, construction continues to progress steadily. beneath this proclamation is the curious fact that the workers, both groups starting at one land and building inwards towards those middle waters, are working without blueprints or the ability to contact the other group. they labor the day and sometimes late into the night, with a steely intensity that is indescribable. with no plans or communication, however, each side is left to guess the exact direction of the other, this proving exceedingly difficult during the morning fogged hours and the dusky late afternoon. thus, every late-morning it comes to the workers that they have labored their nights in askew directions. the hoped-for connection is increasingly obscuring and distancing, but the will and purpose of this unsanctioned, unwanted construction continues anew every foggy morning, furthering the distance between these lands and the people, who look out over the water—now crowded with construction—longingly.
at one time, these separate lands were one; no longer. their affections and affinities form an invisible tether of infinite length, holding them at a distance rivaled only by that to which they are now separated from the time they were one.

at once, i hear an anachronous whistle, meaning it is time for dinner, and i must go.