we are all carrying the bodies of our younger selves, arms full of her crying, of her begging us to take back that night and shove it into a better place. of the memories of her leaving where we screamed our throat raw. the child we were is sobbing and we are always carrying her uphill. things are getting cold. our feet are slipping in the frost and we’re so tired. so so tired. and she’s hungry. she is constantly whispering about the small things that hurt us.
i just want to get her somewhere warm. where she can learn we are happy, where her whispers can be shouts but i don’t slide backwards. blizzards show up from nowhere and she and i freeze in the nothing. i forget to keep walking. i want to be somewhere flat, where i can see storms coming.
but i am always always climbing.