Over rocky roads and steep cliffs I have climbed.
The journey treacherous and never ending.
The wolves, they chased me the whole way; One wrong move and I’d be dead.
“Is this living?” I ask myself.
No, this is surviving.
But I continue on, because I must.

Down the narrow paths and up the rigid walkways.
For days on end, I feel nothing but the cold biting at my fingertips.
We fear monsters and men and dragons, yet the cold is a beast of its own.
My hands go numb,
But I continue on, because I must.

The terrain beneath my feet begins to toughen.
The wolves, I can hear them in the near distance.
I could give up now, but I would never know what living feels like.
So I continue on, because I must.

As I rise higher, it becomes harder to breathe, so much so that I almost collapse.
But then I hear it, the ocean calling my name.
I run from the mountains to the hills of white sand that kiss the water.
I breathe in the salty air.
And like a child, I roll down the dunes to the water’s edge.
I dip my toes in; this time the cold is my friend.
The golden sun illuminates the evening sky with hues of pink and orange.
I let my body melt into the sand,
Not caring about how it seeps into my clothes,
Not caring at all.
And so I gather twigs and branches and reeds.
And build a home beside the sea.
Where I can live, not survive.
Where I can breathe.

And so I continue on,
Because I can.