The mountain analogy goes only so far. It is a climb but not vertical. Rather, it is a tunnel with a bright light at the end, the light an oncoming locomotive. It is a jungle laden with unruly vines and screaming monkeys. It is a room with no doors from which one is both trying to get in and out. It is the party to which one has not been invited. It is a forever skipping record. It is trying to understand my life. It is the wind and I am a leaf smashing futilely against the interior of its wind tunnel prison. It is a woman who won’t love me, no matter how much I change.
