Liluye

There was something broken in the way she stared out from the gaps in the supports. The bridge was old; and as condemned as a bridge could possibly be. It spanned the length of planetary systems, and she was the only one who could still find it.
Somewhere hidden in between her imagination and the tree in her front yard, the bridge was her only get away; no one could find her there. Not that there was anyone to look. She was only seven, and she couldn't remember ever seeing another person. Instead, she got to know the trees.
Flowers bloomed in her footsteps. She saw light in the darkness; and her heart had no hollows. She was a goddess hiding, but she didn't yet know it. Not having ever seen another being like herself, she was a typical human.
She could not speak, her tongue having fused to the roof of her mouth. She was blind and deaf and mute, and there was never anything.
          Until she returned to the bridge, she didn't really exist.
          Until she returned to the bridge, she was nothing.
Mundane activities never destroyed her; she fought as fierce as Spartans, and politicians, and liars, and haters, and lovers, and doctors, and mothers, and fathers. She was the embodiment of passion, and strife, and pain; all that human nature is today.
She was the penultimate paragraph of the beginning of time.
Her bridge was the gateway of creation; and it was here she learned to see, hear and speak. Finding herself unto us; her inhabitants. And it was here she cried. And it was here she regretted becoming a part of the bridge; another factor of it's deathly grips, like the snap-shut predatory jaw of an alligator.
           It was here she was not alone.
           It was here she saw hate.
           It was here the mortal gates
           closed around the heart, a cage
           of titanium, contracting with
           every beat it gave.