Mountain Peak

 

There is a beautiful place that we visited together. We climbed all the way up, step by step, and each step we took was closer to paradise. I stopped halfway, out of breath. I looked up, and there was a long way to go. Breathless, I looked at you questioningly. I couldn’t do it. But the peak was so close, almost, almost.

“Give me your hand,” you said. You smiled, encouragingly.

Like a child, I reached out for you. There we go. Steady, steady. Watch your step. There’s a rock under your foot, be careful.

It took us about ten minutes. We got there, eventually. It was the most serene view. Nothing looked the same anymore. From where we stood, everything else was so small. I had never been here before. Silently, I took it all in. Then I looked at you, and I realized, the beauty was shining through you. It was your moonlight. The way you were happy to be near me. The way you wanted me to belong.

We spent the night on the mountain, blankets not doing their job, the cold air attacking our bones. I was awake before dawn. As the sun rose, I knew the inevitable truth: nobody stays here.

“Now what? How do we get back down?” you asked me, voicing my fears.

“I don’t like it there anymore,” I replied. I reached for your hand to comfort you, but you shifted.

I knew that you were afraid of staying, afraid of too much belonging. You were afraid that one day the cold nights would kill you. You were afraid of the way there was only silence, the beautiful silence scared you. I was calm, and at home where you were. It didn’t matter to me – but I could not convince you otherwise. It was temporary bliss for you, beauty that would dissolve.

“I love the mountains, but I have to get back down. I’m sorry,” you said, eyes brimming with tears.

You dashed off, leaving me with two blankets,  and made your way back down.

It’s been awhile, and I think I like it up here.  I just might need water soon

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