Climbing to Nowhere, Searching for You

I am standing at the edge of a mountain,

feeling the weight of every peak I’ve ever climbed.

But why does the view feel empty?

When did the top start to feel so silent,

as if the echoes of my own heart were swallowed

by the cliffs?

(Do mountains ever tire of standing so tall?)

I wonder…

or is it only me, weary of this love,

this endless climb towards something,

someone,

that always seems just out of reach?

Your voice used to be like wind

whispering through the pines,

steady, certain.

Now it’s fractured,

shifting like the earth beneath my feet—

soft landslides of doubt.

I used to find strength in your words,

but now they crumble like brittle stone.

(Is it me?

Or is it the mountain?

Or is it us?)

Each step forward feels like two steps back,

the path winding through memories—

(remember the time we stood on that ridge,

laughing?)—

and regrets—

(did I say too much?

Or too little?)

The air was thinner then,

but our hearts were full.

Now,

the mountain looms larger.

Cold, sharp edges of indifference

cut into my skin.

And yet…

I still climb.

I still hope.

Because aren’t we all just trying to reach the top?

Isn’t love just another mountain—

one that can make you feel

small and invincible all at once?

Strong and shattered in the same breath?

(Do you remember the first time we touched the sky together?)

I do.

But now, even as I ascend,

I wonder if I’m losing my way.

The fog rolls in—

a thick, unyielding veil—

and I ask myself,

“What if I can’t find you on the other side?”

(What if… you’ve already left?)

The air grows thin,

the world quieter.

And as I sit here,

on the jagged rocks,

I realize—

maybe love isn’t about reaching the top.

Maybe it’s about learning to live

among the valleys, the shadows, the places

where sunlight rarely reaches.

A single tear,

like melted snow,

trickles down my cheek.

It cools, then warms,

and I feel it—

your presence, still there,

like a distant ridge

that calls to me,

that promises

something

more.

(Will we ever stand on that top again?)

I ask,

but the mountains

remain silent.