I gasp life-giving air into my lungs for the first time in a long time.
The trees provide a perfect shelter as they surround me on all sides.
Their roots are deep and the stability of this place is tangible in my bones.
It’s unfair to ask you to be my forest though.

The water crashes above the surface but I’m safe here under the waves.
The pressure covers me and grounds me into a sense of relief.
It’s calming enough to settle my anxious thoughts, it moves me steady.
I am swayed by the rhythm of the movement as the tides roll in and out.
It’s unfair to ask you to be my ocean though.

I reach the top and all of my hard works finally feels like it’s paid off.
I can look below and see how far I’ve come; I can see the victory of what I’ve accomplished.
This view gives me a new perspective of life and everything is starting to make sense.
It’s unfair to ask you to be the peak of my mountain though.

The drops hit my skin and I am reminded of what it feels like to be alive.
The timing is sometimes unpredictable but it makes me thankful that there is still some kind of consistency.
Now matter how many times it comes and goes, I know that it will always come back.
I know that it will bring beauty and growth and revive what once was dead.
It’s unfair to ask you to be my rain though.

The shutters are closed but the lights are on.
The boxes are finally unpacked and every item has found a place to dwell.
I never knew what it meant to abide, but I feel like I have finally found the definition.
This isn’t a place to come and go, this is a place I never want to leave.
It’s unfair to ask you to be my home though.

You can't be my forest.
You can't be my ocean.
You can't be my mountain peak.
You can't be my rain.
You can't be my home.

I'm sorry that I still ask you to be.