If that mountain didn’t seem so steep and the trail so unforgiving, would it have been easier to walk out together rather than clearing our own paths- separate from one another? Do the unvarying and steady trails yield the same results?
Our journey started much like a summer storm swooping in like a twister full of energy & love. We quickly took each other’s hands & immediately took toward the trail. Feeding off of the intensity of the other, we were invincible to the terrain we walked upon. Darkness encompassed the trail as the light had been shielded out by the thick foliage and dark thistles of the tree leading to the base of the mountain. He squeezed my hand tighter to reassure me & we didn’t miss a beat plunging forward into the unknown.
There was mystery & magic that played on our minds like the sound of a single harp playing in the distance, ever so faintly & beautifully ghostly. We didn’t heed the mystery & soon were playing right along with it. We stumbled into a rockier path as we started to ascend up the mountain. Not holding onto each other but still reaching for the other to help steady & regain our footing. The tiresome journey allowed slow progress & our demons began to chant, leaving very small intervals for relaxation.
We had theories of how to procure food & would take off begrudgingly in opposite directions, returning to share what had been scavenged. He’d tell me the tale of the wild beast he killed– the berries & plants I so meticulously picked for us paled in comparison. He’d have his share & half of mine, happily giving it to him.
Nearing the top of the summit we were broken, bruised, hungry, & exhausted. We missed the opportunity to fully take in & enjoy the journey we’d traveled. The sun shone over the horizon to a new day & the landscaped danced in the light. Holding hands we plummeted down loosing our footing in the unforgiving earth.
The ledge we initially fell onto was dark & cold and shied away from the sun’s beams. Shivers began to run down my spine, he tried to warm me, but the love didn’t resonate with my body any longer. It was as if a stranger tried to comfort me in my distress, not knowing what to do to help my fragile soul. He grew tired and weary. The harp still played, but drums and a full orchestra now accompanied it. Playing a song only two lovers in the midst of chaotic battle could hear. As I lay over the edge of the cliff, looking at impeding death, I forced myself to back away.
As I turned to walk toward the warm bright sunbeams, I begged and pleaded with him to come and take my hand. Instead, his hand out stretched for me to follow, I grabbed his hand and turned around to look directly at him and seeing the familiar lines on his unwashed face, his gazed turned to sadness, as he noticed the tears streaming down my filthy bruised face. He let my hand go and turned around. We set out alone into the wilderness. These paths had their own trials and sometimes intertwined with the other, where we found the familiarity a comforting solace for our trek to the base of the mountain ahead, knowing we’d be parting ways once again.
Finally reaching the bottom I looked around alone and took in the amazement of what was once so small looking from the peak, now seemed so big compared to my small frame. As the journey ended we both had scars, but we both had a love we knew to be genuine and challenging. Even when the love is separate it’s still our love that’s always and forever, even if we are not physically ever together again.
Feminist in the Midwest 