Climbing
So, why am I still climbing? There’s no end in sight; there wasn’t even a clearly defined destination when I started. I’ve lost friends, I’ve lost some more-than-friends; some from the frost, others grew tired from the climb. Every second I’m here is another second closer to my own end. Every foot hold speaks of treachery. The wind blows mercilessly through the cracks in my heart, rattling off of memories half forgotten and little cared about.
Still climbing.
There is no point. I would have been warmer on the ground. I would have been safe. I could have been content, maybe even happy. For up here happiness is just the spark of mad laughter. It’s so cold.
Still climbing.
I could fall at any second, any gust of wind, any emotion, any slip of my uneven footing could send me crashing down to the unseen ground far below. Why am I so stubborn? So determined? Why do I even bother trying? What hope do I have other than unfounded hopes based on dreams? When you think about it, its all meaningless. There’s no point. I give up.
Still climbing.
I’ve been climbing for so long and I still can’t see the top. Swirling winds and flurries of snow; that’s all that’s waiting for me at the end of this climb, if there even is an end. I’m so cold. So tired. I should turn back; maybe it’s not too late.  I should go home. I should give up. What is the point, anyway?
Still climbing.
Because I know there’s a point. I know that as soon as I give up hope, I’ll lose what has been waiting for me at the top of this mountain. I don’t know by whose design I was made, or by what design I am here now. But if I stop climbing, I’ll always be alone, I’ll always be a quitter, I’ll always be a deserter; is that what I want? To give up on my dreams? As long as I have hope in my soul and a song in my heart, nothing can keep me from my goal.
Still climbing.