Mountain

 This mountain between us was carved by the very god who, in the same breath, robbed me of my limbs—my arms, hands, legs, and feet. You're so immediate, entangled in the apathetic dance of clashing continental plates, obscured by the intimacy of stones, rocks, dirt, and dust. It is this togetherness that separates us. It is always the togetherness.

 I have never been forgiven for wanting.  I confess now, the purest thing I can offer you is my absence. As long as I'm out of your sight, I will remain beautiful. And that sounds beautiful too, to be beautiful. But was that ever what I wanted from you? I did what I had to do. And I still don't feel beautiful. There is a peculiar sadness that accompanies the knowledge that you remember me, just as I remember you. Now, grief dances around me, unpredictable, its presence swelling and shrinking with my changing heart. I walk around cradling loss like a mother, yet gripping tight to shards of hope.

 After all, anything could be a sign- every fleeting gesture becomes laden with significance, a reason to shed one's garments. And so, I stand here, stripped bare, hurling myself relentlessly at the mountain, devoured by an insatiable desire for the kind of togetherness that will not destroy me. I shut my eyes and I fantasize it is you that surrounds me. It is never you. It is the rocks and the mud and the sand that claim me, invading my eyes, my mouth, and my palms. 

I'm sorry I became the very thing I tried to leave behind to get to you.

I want nothing but your forgiveness.