We are a bridge.
You wrapped a rope around my neck and strung me to a tree, in the hopes that, if you held me taut enough, you could walk all over me. Part of this forced smile rotted and broke off. You skipped over the holes until you forgot they were there.
Eventually the piece you landed on, whilst you tried not to fall through the chasms in my mind, began to break. You hit a little harder each time, and I shook, and splinters left us both with a collection of wounds to remember our days by.
I started to fray. I thought you would tether me again, as you had once before. I remembered the days you had worked so hard to secure me to the earth, to you. I remembered the day you made me part of the pathway to your future. I remembered how proud I was to be part of your home.
I held on as long as I could, soon holes were canyons and frays were the intricate lace of rivers through a continent. Eventually the cracks met, your negligence and my faulty materials, we disintegrated.
You bought a boat, and left me hanging.