It was the break of dawn, when the sun peered over the wide blue yonder and the mountains teemed with life. I had just reached the peak, and as I was scrambling for air and fighting for my breaths, no one was there to offer me a bottle of water or give me a pat on the back.

It was only me, deep in the wilderness, a tiny speck of dot, a figure so dim in the brilliance of the evergreens as if the gods were able to lose me here, up above the vast lands but too far beneath the sky where they’re said to sometimes visit.

If I mourn all the lost faces in these mountains, will I be able to find my way back to embrace the sun and feel its warmth as life – and not as a warning for what I’ve lost?

A flock of canary sang above the trees and I stood still with a deadened tongue, unable to even speak of the baggage on my shoulders. As if it wasn’t wearing me down.

As if it wasn’t wearing me down.