"THE BRIDGE IS OUT!"

Can I just write something and have it here for no words, or thoughts to ponder their meanings? Can I bare no truth or reason, that all I will say and create with my words is a bridge that will meet you halfway there; to wherever you are, as far as the stars in the skies, or farther, three blocks away and behind a door that tells me to stop.
I wonder what I can, without a metaphor or analogy what truth could I bare like too much skin to feel comfortable about showing. I would like to think that if my history was place in front of you that it would remain there, untouched and silent to your interest. I would like to think my past will be ignored and seen as unimportant. There are mistakes, and things I never want to say, but I seem to tell you everything knowing I won't be judged.

This bridge hasn't been tested yet, you can tip your toe upon its surface but I doubt its integrity as I hold your hand, as I hold you back. A wind will blow by, and even that seems to say not to cross, for there is a long road to nowhere, it ends and that's it. I continue telling you of its incompleteness, on how I can't finish it, and with no reply you hop over the small wall I built over its entrance and you walk. I quickly hop over and persue you to stop, that nothing could meet you at the end but the sea; a straight drop into an empty sea. But my words aren't heard, they hold no truth and actually seem to engage you to complete your journey, with me, as my body forms as an archer; you will be carrying the both of us. It is this voice I hear, it calls to me, saying. Stop. Stop stopping. Stop worrying. And let go. I realize where I am, as if woken up in the passenger seat of a car, looking at the new landscape out of context of the journey before it. Where have I been all these years, am I living another life? And soon even my questions seem to dry up and wither away as a strong wind picks up my remains. What remains is myself, on both feet, walking to the end of the world, with you, with my history fading behind us as the heat forms mirages just above the pavement.