Dreams

A bridge

On my way somewhere, very urgent. Almost done except for the crossing of one bridge, but the bridge was twenty miles long, about six miles high at the apex, and approximately fifteen feet wide. It was made of a polished gray stone, almost the appearance of steel. People walked slowly by, in groups of three or five. I kept slipping to the side, grasping frantically at the edge and staring down; I had only gone about ¼ a mile, and I could not look up. To do so would mean to slip to the edge again, fall the few hundred feet to the ground/rocks/water below. The bridge span was eternity, and I could not bear to watch for long. It was the gaze of god, you see, which I could not follow.

And I kept falling.