If you were a mountain range,
I’d find the darkest part of you and stay there. I’d make a home from the overgrown trees and the earthy smell of your soil. I’d hide myself in your deepest cave, and search for the cracks in its walls or the places where nothing but dark creatures live. I’d place my hand against your stone over and over until my hand print slowly formed. I’d find the ugly parts, the cold ones where sun just doesn’t reach, and I’d get comfortable there, in your shady darkness. And then, after feeling your unsteady parts, the parts where your ground just isn’t quite solid, id set fire to your dead trees. I’d start slowly, with those old dried out twigs, and move to your fallen branches until my fire covered your lifeless trees. I’d use every ounce of oxygen in my body just to stoke it. And once it was nothing but cinder, I’d clear the way. I’d use my hands to move the ashes away, and I’d find whatever water I could and I’d watch new life grow. If you were a mountain range, I’m sure I’d get lost trying to find the peaks, but id never give up, because my chest never stops pushing me forward and I’ve never felt such a pull towards something. If you were a mountain range, I’d touch each tree just to feel its bark, and I’d find every hidden lake or massive glacier and I’d sit, patiently, waiting for something to change. If you were a mountain range, I’d be your park ranger and I’d learn you from the tips of your peaks to the darkness of your caves and I’d never forget the way you looked at sunrise. Because I said I’d do that. And because even after all this, I keep trying. I just thought I’d let you know, if you were a mountain range, I’d build my home on you.