the first time i tripped over her weaker side, it wasn't one of my best experiences. She had been moving around in circles , just decreasing in her altitude all the same. Just when i thought i had achieved a safeguard, i tumbled off the edge and rolled down a few hundred meters. it wasn't the first time i'd fallen, it wasn't the first of my scars, and yet, the pain was unnerving. No matter how hard i try to forget her, i will never forget the first time i ran off the trail on my way down from a mountain Summit.
She'd usually welcome me into her arms, when i was tired, hungry and sleepy. She'd invite me to a personal corner close to her, she'd make me believe i would heal. I'd spend the night with her, then get up and pack my bags. I was a loyal lover, but there were so many lovers to comprehend.
sometimes she would get moody, be hot and cold all the same. But whether i felt dehydrated or frostbitten, she would always give me my space.
i allowed myself to climb over her, make good use of the voids within her presence, and then i'd climb higher and set up camps where she felt most comfortable with the terrain. maybe i was just fooling around, no mountaineers are ever loyal to their mistress, yet somehow they always return to old places and rejoice the love they find within familiar faces.
sometimes our relationship would get cloudy, i'd walk relentlessly through the rain. she'd turn water into snow, and i'd keep fighting her wrath all the same. when i rewind back to the number of times she let me down, or pushed me into a crevice to watch me drown, i sometimes adopt a feeling of hate, then i realize how moody i've been off late.
ive been a sour lover, i haven't been the best man, travelling along these mountain peaks, i haven't even had too many fans. i guess well forever indulge in the scrutiny of this bittersweet relationship. Yet, ill never forget that one time, when i tripped and she let me off her cliff.
my ode to the Mountain Peaks.