(( A metaphor ))
The top of the mountain felt so far away.
I knew that the top signified so much in our relationship. It represented love, it represented trust, respect, and most of all, it represented us.
I remember the way the sun was shining on our skin – it was as if its happiness engulfed us in a warm embrace – we were happy and the world smiled with us.
Our fingers intertwined. So strong. So safe. He kept urging me, telling me how great it’ll be once we get to the top. He shared stories, his voice so relaxing, like jumping into a cold river during the middle of a blazing July. All I could see was his back as he pulled me along. I blindly followed, but I just wanted to see his face. To kiss it. To look into his chocolate brown eyes and know that everything would be okay.
I could feel my legs scream in protest, as if my body was warning me to stop going up the mountain. But it was love. Love was a risk….. Right? Nothing bad would happen. It was us.
We finally made it to the top, but his back was still to me.
“Look at me,” my words mingled in the wind as it whipped my hair across my eyes.
He finally turned – but it wasn’t his face. It was slowly cracking, like a mask that had been worn for too long, and the sun wasn’t smiling with us anymore. I could feel the heat as it pressed against my shoulders, weighing me down. He wasn’t smiling either.
He was angry. But what did I do? Did I say something wrong? Could I have done anything differently on the way up to the top?
And he pushed me off that mountain.
I’m lying here, at the bottom, broken into pieces. But I’m alive.