A bridge made of hair...

I was walking on a bridge made of hair...
Lots and lots of tiny piece of hair...
So dark and smooth...
Soft and tender...
I could smell the fragrance..

On a different ocassion,
The bridge felt different...
It was not dark, i could see some accent to it...
It looked still so soft and tender...
But, the fragrance was different...

I was amazed by its enchantment...
But, I began to worry...
Where's my bridge?

The bridge I long crossed?
The bridge I long cares?
Is it still the same?
Or long gone?

At the Junction

At the junction,
We look right and left..
Making sure to safely turn..

At the junction,
We look for signs..
Making sure on the right direction..

But, at the junction,
We rarely looking back..
Knowing the path cannot be undone..

At the junction,
We decide..
Where will we choose our path..