She clinged her sweater tightly, wrapping her arms around


She slowly walked over the side of the bridge, looking down as if counting her steps. Cars rushed past her speedily, dishevelling her hair.

She clinged her sweater tightly, wrapping her arms around herself.

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Her feet were getting heavier every time she stepped forward. The tears she had been holding back escaped, twinkling in the remnants of the dim light in the sky as the Sun started to drown and the darkness was slowly spreading its way across the horizons.

Deep down her heart she knew that it wasn’t the darkness that was saddening her depths, it was the realization, the bitter truth that no one cared about her shedding the tears, that she was the culprit, she was suffering for her sins, that no one could help her and pull her out of the dark.

She stepped out of the path and stood by the edge of the bridge. Her feet were unstable but it didn’t matter. She quietly watched the river, the waves following each other. She threw a wistful glance back at the city where thousands of lights were gleaming like stars. She again watched the river, unable to comprehend its depth.

She wished to drown in it, moving toward its depth and the river would never end and she would never reach the bottom and in doing so, she would perish from the world, the one which hated her, so that she could never be discovered just forgotten as those events of the history that aren’t printed on paper.

She spread her arms as if to jump but a picture of a happy, smiling face flashed her mind, the face so glowing that it would intimidate the stars, her best friend’s face, whom she loved more than anything and anyone else in the world but she was the person who she had lost due to her mistakes. Of what use was she then?

Everyone hated her. Life had moved on but she was stuck, in the darkness which couldn’t be escaped but that face-that made her heart race and her body froze where it was. Was it worth dying like this?

She stepped away from the edge, sighed and started her journey back.

Maybe, mistakes were just mistakes after all. And there was no way she couldn’t fix hers.