You’re not quite sure if it was a dream or a memory of a speculation. Under the bridge of Guadalupe, the water levels of Pasig River rose to above human levels. It reached the point when you could touch the underbelly of the bridge with your face, which was actually the ideal thing to do to get air. Surely, that hadn’t happened in real life – at least not yet. You interpreted the dream – or the thought – such that you were supposed to save someone from under the bridge. And true enough, like déja vu, you asked yourself if there was someone living under the bridge – yes, there is – and if he needed saving. But that someone was sleeping under colorful cots, face concealed and therefore showed no signs of calm nor distress. So you just kept walking your way. But now you know: someone’s there.
(writing practice inspired by unphotographable.com)