Days seem to be stretched out as a mountain, nights where the winter breeze takes over and frost gently laying on every blade of grass for miles. Snow slowly dances down covering the leaves on our evergreens and muting out the green hues of the scrubs. Even throughout the summer, our mountain tops are still frigid and unforgiving for some visitors.
Maybe this is why no one ever visits us anymore. Our land isn't as harsh as our weather though. During the springs, our base is blooming with vivid blossoms and leaves. The same cannot be said to our tops and cliffs, as they are binded with snow and ice for every crack and crevice of our landscape. But if you look hard enough, you might see a lonely flower, scrub, or sprout peeking from the thick snow. A balance to keep on everything, even with the lifeless ice and snow that lives upon our lands, there will always be that single flower that rests peacefully waiting to bloom in spring.
But that is the same thing said the other way around. Even with all the beauty that is bestowed upon us, a balance must be met. Our time standing has been isolated from the footsteps and curiosities of humans. We may predominantly stand out from everything, people stare and talk.
Only being acknowledged from afar, but no one ever comes close. Seeing all the people who dare explore these lands, walk in, but never walk back out, has never brought a light weight to our hearts. Knowing how no one can care for you, no one to help maintain us. Overgrown grass and trees, hiker’s items scattered, their bones.
Their whispers ripping behind the sounds of the wind.
Their whispers haunt us.
Torment us.
No matter how far we run.
They're always there.
We couldn’t do anything. We never wanted this to happen. We wish more could stay, but not like this. There used to be a time where we would listen to their words. They are sweet, nice, and listenable. Even after what we did. We were comforting to them, we always wanted to help, we did everything for them. Our roots were decaying and rock eroding.
But that was just some insignificant feeling, they were the ones who had greater suffering. As the sun set and rose met us, another stone chipped from our core. Many sun sets and rises flew by, with small pieces of us going along with it. Inevitably, there was no more to give. No one can be supported with an unstable mountain, a mountain that seems to crumble at any given moment. We couldn’t give their needs, we couldn’t even give anything for us.
As if now, we couldn’t do anything but isolant us more. Harsh ice and snow began to spread. Hoping they’ll find some place else. But their weeps only became increasingly audible every day. But we still couldn’t do anything. There was nothing left. While they suffer, we can't give anything, do anything, help them.
As a mountain, our days are quiet and frigid. Lonely. Stuck hearing painful sobs of an old companine.
Maybe this is why no one ever visits us anymore. Our land isn't as harsh as our weather though. During the springs, our base is blooming with vivid blossoms and leaves. The same cannot be said to our tops and cliffs, as they are binded with snow and ice for every crack and crevice of our landscape. But if you look hard enough, you might see a lonely flower, scrub, or sprout peeking from the thick snow. A balance to keep on everything, even with the lifeless ice and snow that lives upon our lands, there will always be that single flower that rests peacefully waiting to bloom in spring.
But that is the same thing said the other way around. Even with all the beauty that is bestowed upon us, a balance must be met. Our time standing has been isolated from the footsteps and curiosities of humans. We may predominantly stand out from everything, people stare and talk.
Only being acknowledged from afar, but no one ever comes close. Seeing all the people who dare explore these lands, walk in, but never walk back out, has never brought a light weight to our hearts. Knowing how no one can care for you, no one to help maintain us. Overgrown grass and trees, hiker’s items scattered, their bones.
Their whispers ripping behind the sounds of the wind.
Their whispers haunt us.
Torment us.
No matter how far we run.
They're always there.
We couldn’t do anything. We never wanted this to happen. We wish more could stay, but not like this. There used to be a time where we would listen to their words. They are sweet, nice, and listenable. Even after what we did. We were comforting to them, we always wanted to help, we did everything for them. Our roots were decaying and rock eroding.
But that was just some insignificant feeling, they were the ones who had greater suffering. As the sun set and rose met us, another stone chipped from our core. Many sun sets and rises flew by, with small pieces of us going along with it. Inevitably, there was no more to give. No one can be supported with an unstable mountain, a mountain that seems to crumble at any given moment. We couldn’t give their needs, we couldn’t even give anything for us.
As if now, we couldn’t do anything but isolant us more. Harsh ice and snow began to spread. Hoping they’ll find some place else. But their weeps only became increasingly audible every day. But we still couldn’t do anything. There was nothing left. While they suffer, we can't give anything, do anything, help them.
As a mountain, our days are quiet and frigid. Lonely. Stuck hearing painful sobs of an old companine.
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