A Tear in the Lovelock Bridge

Nine years...
Nine years…
Thirty-six years....old school
Thirty-six years….old school
Uh-oh..wire cutters!

At what point in the whirlpool of a breakup — collecting the clothes, returning books, clearing out the accounts, screaming on the phone– does one remember, “oh hell, the lock on the bridge.  What did you do with the damn key?”

“What do you mean, me?  You were supposed to take care of it.”

For how long does one rummage the detritus of a relationship before one reaches for the wire cutters?  Is it a chore for the offended party alone?  If you’re angry enough to commit the sacrilege of cutting the fence, don’t you still care? What if the the key really isn’t lost, and one party to the breakup is withholding its whereabouts?  How many relationships have come back from the brink during the deeply symbolic search for the key?

Tearing a hole in the fence, that’s Full Bitter.  If I can’t be happy no one else should be, either.  

The living water of the LA River is unperturbed by the operatics on the bridge.  Nature has a way of upstaging all of us.

3 thoughts on “A Tear in the Lovelock Bridge”

  1. Oh dear…

    Perhaps it’s the new love that removed the old love’s lock… That is also slightly more optimistic.

    It’s also possible to take a different interpretation – on the very odd chance that things worked out really well. If I were sentimental (which I’m not) I could see myself cutting out the lock complete with a scrap of chain linked fence and framing it in a shadow box as part of an anniversary remembrance – maybe if we were leaving town…

    Yes, I know. It’s a stretch. I’m trying to think happy thoughts here. Work with me.

  2. Been reading your blog for a couple weeks. Great writing and quite an eye for photography to boot! I’m going to recommend to a longtime friend who is a grad student at CSUN. As for myself, I’ve never been to L.A. but I feel like I understand its issues a little better after reading some of the posts on this blog.


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