As we drive over the bridge, I tell myself not to look down, but the word tugs at my periphery. The sea. So vast, and so devoid of anything to distract my attention from its horrible emptiness. It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t have to be real. I always hope that it’s all a dream, that I won’t have to accept the ocean as fact. That somehow, I live in a world without anything to reach the horizon. The bridge crumbles, collapsing into that which I dread. A dream? No. It’s all I can see, all I will ever see.