The Bridge

 She couldn't cross;

couldn't manage to move one foot in front of the other,

couldn't manage forward regardless of whether she wanted to or not.

What's stopping you?

Her feet were tethered to the ground,
she - the tree, her feet - the roots searching for something - nourishment that wasn't available on the side she currently resided.

I could see the hesitation radiating off of her,

I saw the indecisiveness painted on her face like evening makeup.

She couldn't cross;
the wind held the property of a voice, it began to speak... It knew her name... It knew her weakness too and how to use it effectively.

What's the hold up?

It told her not to move,
told her that the bridge could giveaway under her feet;

I go to reach for her hand,

to let her know that everything is alright, but she snatched her hand away,

still deadpan staring at what's in front of her.

She - herself knew she couldn't swim, she knew she wouldn't be able to float on account that she wouldn't drop the baggage that she carried.

Stop letting yourself stop you-

She couldn't cross;

I knew how prone she was to being deceived by the wind, granting it/her anxiety a voice that only she could hear. the other side.

She was weary of the stranger she'd meet on