The Bridge of Forgotten Names
Everyone crossed it once — few remembered when.
At the edge of the forest was a bridge made of pale stone. No one knew who built it, but every traveler who crossed felt lighter, as if they’d left something behind.
One evening, a poet came seeking inspiration. Halfway across, he forgot the ache in his heart, the face he couldn’t stop seeing.
When he turned around, the forest behind him was gone. Ahead lay a sunrise he didn’t recognize.
The climax: He reached the other side and found a notebook waiting — filled with poems he hadn’t written yet, all signed with a name he no longer remembered.
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