March 17th
"She is the peak, that's how I can best explain it. She is a place, a state, the feeling she provides, the highest point, the only in between... When I'm climbing, getting there, I'm suffocating –but eager, although exhausted of the hiking. I'm nervous and about to burst; anticipation is consuming. I'm unstable, unbalanced but trying to get it together, not to have my mess scattered on the rocky ground. The higher I go the colder it gets, and when I struggle for some air my body sends those hot rushes –internal, ephemeral fevers. The sight of the world around me, how high I stand and how big would the fall be if my legs gave up now clunks down at the bottom of my stomach –the nerves ache like I was about to throw up. Every inch of me, every prickling, tiny hair on the back of my neck dreads the moment I set foot where "the top" begins. It's a time bomb, ticking near the climax –the exploding that should be of all the feelings and the mess inside of me. But when I reach it, it's silent. No bomb. No crescendo. No mess. I'm there. Here. Her. The soft breeze kisses my cheeks, my neck, strokes my hair. The grey sky is as welcoming, with patches of a shy, baby blue here and there. The skyline is beautiful, breathtaking without being entirely unsteadying. Everything as it should be. It doesn't get any better but "better" is just nonexistent here. It's the true eye of the hurricane –her. Her sweet scent, soft skin, beautiful thoughts and melodic voice. It's heaven and paradise and Eden and everything man can call it. Before and after are blurry, this is the all. Until, too lost in the view, I keep walking and give the first step down. All that was the buildup now rushes downhill like an avalanche that knocks me hastily off my feet. I'm shaken with the feeling, now maximized, of needing to throw up until even all my organs are out; i feel I need my skin off my muscles and these off my bones because it is all too much. And I then need to cry and just need to collapse on the floor and need it to swallow me whole, and I need a knife or a bullet through my head to get rid of her memory and the impossibility of it all. And I need to cry and I need to yell. I need to get my feet on the flat ground and not climb another mountain in my life. I need not to go back when I've felt the after-her, and I need not to be stupid enough to know the whole drill and still find myself nervous because I'm getting near the top again."
