“I love. Wouldn’t we all like to start/a poem with ‘I love . . .’?” I would. – C. Dale Young, “The Bridge”
“I love the disbelief of a bridge,” Alix told me. We stood under a bridge looking across the river, all brick buildings on the other side, a silver bridge spiraling from here to there.
It was our first date and Alix had already won a place in my heart. I didn’t tell her that, though.
Years later I would look back on this moment and remember the time before I knew about time travel. When I thought I was just going out with an interesting-looking woman I’d met in a pub after work.
. . . who turned out to be a woman from the fourteenth century who had traveled extensively in the 22nd century, but who was looking for a mate in the 21st century. Me.
“You’d be surprised where a bridge can take you.” Aiix grabbed my hand and we crossed the spiral bridge, hurrying a little from the chill in the wind that scoured the river from the north.