Crossing the River

I had a dream last night where I was taking a long trip, and along the way a little boy joined me. He was a delightful little boy, good humored, full of life. All along the way he was my companion. Finally, we came to a wide river, which we crossed together, but I knew instantly that he should not have crossed, that he did not belong on this side, that he had to go home and that I had to go on alone. And so I sent him on his way with the best instructions I could possibly give. It was nightfall. I felt guilty for not having compelled the boy to leave me earlier. I gave him my phone number, I described the route he should take to his own side of the river. I knew I would not be coming back again, that the river would separate our association forever. I was sad to see him go, but knew that he could no long follow me, or rather, that I could no longer bring him along.