There is no sound. I open my eyes. As I look around me I notice very warily that I am here. Again. Standing on the edge of the bridge, swaying as if the slightest breeze could push me to my oblivion. I take a deep breath. I close my eyes. I step away. These waves crashing below me who had taken countless lives cry out as I refuse their tempting offer. “I will not go with you tonight.” I whisper as I start my walk home. The air is cold and crisp. My breath billows behind me as I walk. It reminds me of the time when I was young my father would tell me about the trains that ran solely on steam, and great clouds of smoke would pour from their tops. I remember my father, so brave and strong. I also remember the night he welcomed those cold waves with his wide, open arms. That night was like this one. So cold. So harsh. So bitter. So harsh and bitter, like this reality I’ve been living in. All my life I have been alive, but not one day of it have I truly lived.
Written Realities 