This story comes from a mixing of some emotional troubles with certain people I know and my overactive imagination. I had this image in my head for a while and wanted to convey it through writing a short story. "Two old friends meeting on a mist covered bridge" is not the title of the story, but merely a description of the scene.

It was nice, really. Meeting on the same creaky oak bridge on which they had met so many years ago.

Tom looked down at the cracks and knots in the wood. When looked at up close, any of the wooden planks which made up the bridge seemed to have multiple flaws and imperfections. Some were large, some were small. Overall, however, the board was solid, strong, and complete. It seemed as if nothing, neither minor imperfections, nor the ruthless onslaught of Time could faze it. Looking up he squinted and saw a figure, shrouded by the thick mist covering the pond, walking toward him.

"Long time no see, old friend" the figure said
Tom chuckled. Then he nodded, "Travis.. it's been 3 years, not since the wedding"
"Three years this August"
They stood there, thinking of how they were both men, yet at the same time were still both children. Tom thought back to the times when they, as foolish youths, had each been so callous toward the other at times. These times of emotional disregard had often been balanced with great camaraderie between the two. He thought to how in the later years, the periods of hardening continued for much longer than did the times of friendship, and how this pattern of imbalance eventually led to the rockiness of their current friendship, if you could even call it that.

The mist hung low as the men stood for several minutes in silence.
The koi swum amongst each other aimlessly.
A small rowboat, tied lazily to the winding bridge which bisected this hazy pond through the center, bobbed up and down in the water.
Off in the distance, some geese could be heard.

Travis inhaled a breath of air, and out from his mouth he uttered the following words: "I'm sorry". Although his words were undoubtedly sincere, he kept a stonelike and emotionless face, looking at his old comrade with a piercing, yet oddly comforting look in his eyes.
Tom said nothing, but nothing needed to be said. He gently nodded a nod of understanding, walked toward his friend, and shook his hand. He looked at this man who he had known so well, and said "I am too."

Both men departed, knowing well that in all probability they would never see each other again.

Soon after it had again been deserted, a gust of wind blew across the pond. A single board of the long winding bridge cracked and sunk to the bottom.

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