On the edge of a desert cliff, staring down into an endless black, I wonder how I might cross. There is a fountain on the other side. Overflowing. Trickling down into the gorge. As long as I have been here watching it, sun beating me to ash, it’s been gathering below me. Years, years, years, it must be a river by now. So thirsty, the water could catch me.

I do not look back. Turn, walk the world around. Feet burn in the sand with every step. Everything is behind me, I know it. And everything I need is on the other side of that canyon. I know this. So I do not look back.

And when I arrive at the other side, when I finally reach the fountain, I drink from it. And I live. And then I look across the emptiness and see myself standing there, staring. Thirsty. Lost in dreams.

When I wake, I wonder which side I am on. If I’m really living or if it just feels that way. And I wonder if maybe, if I’m not willing to dive, if I should at least start walking.