It wasn’t marked. Just a few wooden planks, nailed gently together, leading into the river.
No ferry. No ropes. No signs. Only a bench — and a small bell that didn’t ring.
I sat there longer than I meant to. Not waiting.
Just… being.
Birds came and went.
Someone across the river folded laundry in the sun.
A leaf floated by like it had somewhere soft to go.
I didn’t take a photo. Didn’t journal. I just listened — until the silence made a shape.
I didn’t expect the stillness to feel so full. Like something had finished. Like a doorway had closed — not with force,
but with understanding.
Some places aren’t meant to take you anywhere. They just want you to know you’ve already arrived.
Even if you leave,
you don’t go back the same.