There's a hill
And I know what's on the other side.
It's a sweeping landscape of beautiful skies and mountains and wind through my hair, traveling a hundred miles an hour down the *****.
I want it
And it's been so long since my frayed ends have left my shoulders; since I've done anything but trudge this incline.
It's slow going
When this baggage is so heavy
And the sand beneath  my feet shifts and sags with every step.
I would cut these ties if I knew how.
But what if
I need something from somewhere in these pockets? I might miss them; I know nothing else.
Nothing else but my feet, this weight, and this ascent.
And no,
Miley Cyrus, it's not the ******* climb,
It's staying sane. Even though it's been so long, and it's such slow going, and it's so shifty, and so heavy, and there's no end in sight.
And you're just so, so tired.
At the peak,
I hope it's everything I dreamed it would be.
I hope there's a purpose for this baggage, and that the landscapes really are sweeping, that the skies and mountains really are beautiful as they say, that the wind really musses these sweaty strands.
Dear god,
Please don't let these bones break for nothing.