Burning Bridges

It’s easier to burn a bridge than to build one.
It may not have been my magnum opus 
But I would like to think 
We were the most beautiful thing to ever exist.
Created from whatever was laying 
In your mind on a 
Lazy Sunday afternoon
Coupled with the sunlight 
Peaking from the curtains.
That fire in your eyes
Is the same one that I saw that 
Night. 
We don’t mean anything anymore.
Dictionaries are none the wiser and
The scholars go back to observing,
Waiting for the next
Hypothesis.
Something that breaks boundaries.
Walls…
Walls made of stone.
Cold.
Unfeeling.
I was tired of climbing.
No one could see you in your castle. 
So I cut the rope 
And set our bridge on
Fire.