Dear Bridges of Madison County

I didn’t know what you were when I first sat down to watch you. I knew Clint Eastwood. I knew Meryl Streep. I didn’t know I was about to fall into something that would stay lodged in my chest for years.

I cried for two hours.
Not because of the movie.
But because of what you reminded me of.
Someone I lost ... to something stupid. Something we never recovered from. Something I still don’t know how to talk about without staring off halfway through the sentence.

You told the age-old story: falling for something you can’t have.
The kind of love that makes no sense, but feels like home.
The kind that’s wrong on paper, but in your chest ... it’s the only thing that ever felt right.

And then… it doesn’t choose you.
It walks away.
It lets the rain fall while the truck drives off.
And you’re left sitting there ... in the quiet ... trying to figure out what was real, and what was just a beautiful moment passing through.

You didn’t show me romance.
You showed me consequence.
You showed me that sometimes love doesn’t have a happy ending.
It has a peaceful one. A gentle payoff.
But not the one we want.

And somehow, that’s worse.

I’ve watched you three times. Once with someone else ... who didn’t even finish watching you.
They watched me.
They cried not because of the film, but because they saw the pain in my face.
That’s how deep you reached. That’s the kind of story you are.

And I think I still hold onto you because you let me feel something I can’t always access.
I cry at lost friendships.
I mourn missed connections.
Maybe that’s the story of my life: a little too transient, a little too quiet when it mattered most.

But you…
You didn’t forget me.
You still hold a piece of me I don’t know how to reclaim.

So here’s what I would say to you ... if you were a person, not a film:

I love you to death.
But why did you have to show me the sad reality of love?
You didn’t end in heartbreak.
You ended in silence.
And somehow, that’s the part that broke me most.

...
Still yours,
Even now.

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About the Author
Mish’al Samman is a writer, performer, and lifelong fanboy who began his career covering comics, film, and fandom culture for Fanboy Planet in the early 2000s. With a voice rooted in sincerity, humor, and cultural observation, his work blends personal storytelling with pop-culture insight. Whether he’s reflecting on the soul of Star Wars or exploring identity through genre, Mish’al brings a grounded, human perspective to every galaxy he writes about.