The bridge

You wake up each given morning standing on a shallow bridge feeling into a misty abyss You wake up again and again on the verge of either a breakthrough or yet another day of avoiding the emptiness You take note of your feelings write them down in technicolor and contemplate them from a safe distance Will you dare to cross the bridge today You wonder as you set your intention armored up to your neck with doubt There is a woman standing on the other side You can feel her gaze of steel piercing through your skin She had died in your dream the night before murdered by a psychotic ex husband yet there she stands, looking at you She will quietly wait on the other side with infinite patience and kindness until you either cross or burn down the fucking bridge What will it be?