i ask you:

as you stood before the mountain peaks
do you remember its name
do you remember the bite of the frost
on the fingers you dont have anymore?
do you remember the cold and how it clouded
the vision youve gone so long without?

"when submerged in darkness,"
you say
"one grasps at the light-
no matter how deeply it stings,
for it is something, anything-
in a world of nothing, nothing,
nothing"

your silhouette falters, you shake until your shape is unrecognizable

though i test your limits with the pain of postcards, like scalpels in your side

i must admit: i am sorry.