She stood alone on the bridge, but it didn’t seem to matter. The sun brushed her skin while the wind played with her reddish hair, tangling it across her face like a delicate curtain. Her clear eyes gazed toward the horizon, at something or someone who wasn’t there. And though a faint smile lingered on her lips, there was sadness in her, a sadness you could feel more than see.It was a smile of farewell, of acceptance. That bridge, that moment, was a place of transition, as her life had always been. She had left so many things behind—so many cities, so many faces that once meant everything to her. Now she was here, in Amsterdam, where the sun and the wind seemed to conspire to give her one last moment of beauty before everything changed again.In her pocket, she carried a memory: a small, rusted key, insignificant to anyone who didn’t know its story. It had belonged to a house that no longer existed, a place where she had once lived through happy days before life pushed her in another direction. The key was all she had left of that time, a tiny, heavy object that tethered her to the past.The smile remained on her face as the wind wrapped around her, as if trying to protect her. But deep down, her mind was far away, drifting in the waters of what once was. She knew she would have to move soon, to cross the bridge and continue her journey, but for now, she allowed herself to stop, as if by doing so, she could hold onto that feeling of loss and longing a little longer.There were no tears, just the echo of everything she had never said.
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