On Something Stable

I told myself I was happy,
as I walked across the bridge,
making very sure
to keep my hand
on the rail.

I was happy, yes.
Happy to think of nothing
and look down into the water
and see nothing
but my own empty face
looking up as a reflection.

That face could disappear
at any moment,
because the person who held it
could fall –
yes, fall into the water
and never have to deal with the situations
associated with coming back up.

I made very sure to repeat to myself
that I was happy, I was happy,
yes, I truly was.

And it almost made me happy
to think that it was true.
The water, after all,
did not call to me
as much as I'd thought.
There was no call
for me to go anywhere past the bridge's rail
that I still kept my hand on.

But my only question is,
if I was really content to live
and not to fall,
then why did I keep my hand
so very surely on the rail,
as though to keep
myself on something stable
and not to finally fall?