Journal entry 11 4laugh
The bridge
‘I am not crossing that,’ I tell the dog.
He looks at me as if to say, Oh yes you bloody well are.
‘look at how rickety it is!’ I protest, but the dog isn’t interested. She steps onto it and begins across. Gingerly, I step onto it as well…
It’s wooden.
It’s cracked, my hands burn from gripping the rope so tightly.
I look down.
Down to what look like an abyss.
Yet, gradually, I’m making my way across, sometimes getting down on all fours to make it.
It feels like spoken words, this bridge. I want it but fear it. God, I want so desperately to reach the other side---just like I want my words. I want my words to build bridges strong enough to walk on. I want them to tower over the world so I can stand up on them ans walk to the other side.
Sometimes you crouch down to build a bridge.
It’s a start, I guess.
leaking soul Community Member 
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