Steep and Exposed

I woke up inside a dream where the mountain had no path—
just rock face and wind and the low thrum of nothing
beneath my feet.
You stood there beside me,
or maybe above me,
maybe behind,
shouting my name but the wind stole it.
You don’t know yet how the world thins at altitude,
how breath becomes a barter,
how thought splinters into
just the next grip,
just the next step,
just the next not-falling.

We are always climbing,
even when we call it walking.


---

Do you remember that time we thought we were ready?
The sun was gold on our backs,
we packed granola and water
and all the right words.
You laughed at the warning signs
as if “steep” was just a word for interesting
and “exposed” a metaphor for honesty.
We didn’t understand that both
mean risk.
Real, trembling,
bone-deep risk.


---

I touched the cliff with my fingers,
palms sweating inside chalk-dusted gloves.
You said, “Trust the edge.”
I wanted to trust you more.
Wanted to know how your voice
sounded when you were afraid.
But you climbed like you were built for this—
knees loose, shoulders squared,
your back a question I was too scared to answer.
And I was always behind,
trying to follow your footholds
that weren’t meant for my shoes.


---

This isn’t just about the mountain.


---

The day I told you I was afraid of heights,
you smiled like it was charming.
You didn’t ask why.
Didn’t know how many cliffs
have names that aren’t on maps.
The balcony of my childhood home.
The time I stood on a chair
just to feel taller than my fears.
How the view from love
is often steeper than any summit
and just as fragile.


---

You once said:
“You don’t fall unless you look down.”
But I looked up
and still stumbled.
Still felt gravity calling
like a memory.
Still knew that even trust has an altitude limit.
That even courage slips, sometimes.


---

When did we become rock and rope
instead of laughter and firelight?
When did the hike turn vertical,
without us noticing?
Maybe it was when I told you the truth
and you blinked like sunlight in your eyes.
Maybe when you reached out to help me
but didn’t wait to see if I took your hand.


---

There is a moment every climber knows.
The crux.
The point where the route
no longer forgives hesitation.
I was there once,
one boot on a ledge,
one hand on a crack,
the wind like a dare behind my ears.
I thought of you.
How you would have smiled then,
cheered me on,
or maybe climbed ahead
without looking back.


---

You climb to escape,
don’t you?

I climb to return.


---

My thighs burned.
My lungs stitched with cold.
You were just a silhouette above me,
tethered by rope
but never really tied.
Every anchor you placed
was temporary.
Every promise, too.

You shouted: “Only one way up!”
But I wanted to pause,
to watch the valley.
To sit with the lichen
and learn how stillness survives
without applause.


---

You never saw beauty in stopping.


---

When we reached the summit,
you smiled at the view—
not at me.
You were already planning
the next peak,
the next impossible angle to conquer.
I took off my pack,
and felt the weight of not speaking
slide down my spine like melting snow.


---

You stood too close to the edge.
Your arms wide,
as if the sky owed you something.
I stayed back,
not because I feared falling
but because I feared the moment
you might jump
and I would follow
just to stay with you.


---

Steep and exposed.
It’s a warning.
A test.
A love story.


---

Sometimes you walk into the mountain,
thinking it will make you feel whole.
But the trail falls away,
and you realize—
this isn’t ascent.
It’s surrender.

And sometimes surrender
is the bravest thing you can do.


---

So I chose the descent.

One careful foot,
then another.
Palms scraped raw
from gripping what didn’t want to hold me.
Knees softening,
heart opening
like a poppy in the wind.

You didn’t follow.

Maybe you never knew
that love, too, has ridgelines.
That sometimes you reach a place
where the only way to survive
is to turn around.


---

I met myself halfway down the trail.


---

Not the one who climbed for you.
Not the one who clung to ledges
just to be worthy.
But the one who breathed—
who laughed at the bird tracks in the mud,
who waved at the clouds like old friends,
who sat on a fallen log
and didn’t apologize for resting.


---

If you’re still up there,
I hope the view is what you wanted.

And if one day you find yourself
clinging to something that won’t hold—
remember me.
Remember that I once loved you
even in the wind.

Even on the ledge.

Even when it was steep
and exposed.

#Heart #SteepAndExposed #MountainMetaphor #EmotionalClimb #LettingGo #LoveAndLoss #SelfDiscovery #Nature #Poetry #InnerJourney #Reflections #ClimbAndFall