The mountain seemed impossible to climb.
It was tall. Very tall. Parts of the trail visibly morphed into the sides making whatever path had been laid out a scalable one at best.
But she had to do it.
There was no other reason. No logic or necessity.
She just had to do it.
So she left her quiet path – the one filled with dips, hills, valleys, and peaks. The one that was clouded by trees, brightened by the sun. The one that gave her internal happiness and warmth.
She left it.
So she could climb the mountain.
The one that seemed impossible to climb.
Because she had to –
And she did.
She climbed it.
The rocks tore at her clothing and flesh. The elements wore her down. She reached the top, breathless and exhausted. She should have been proud and relieved. But she missed her own path.
Her quiet path – the one filled with adventures that spoke to her.
Not ones that bore through her.
Down the mountain she went.
A quick slide. A simple ending. The opposite of her trek up, allowing the emptiness and loneliness to multiply in the absence of the struggle.
At the bottom, she sat.
Too late to return to her path?
Had she missed too much?
So she sat. At the bottom of the mountain.
The mountain that had seemed impossible to climb.
The one she climbed just because she had to.
As the moss began to grow on her toes, and move up to her shins she remembered what her path was like before.
With less effort than she had needed to start out her journey off her path toward the mountain she hopped up and found her way back to her path.
Spending her days meandering her way through,
A smile loosely spread across her face – her path impossible not to enjoy.

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