The clouds were shifty on the day we left; they were twisting and diving, forming pictures that charged and sieged before dashing themselves against the silloettes of the mountains etched into the horizon.
By the time the sun was scratching snow gums into the mist I was breaching the crest of the lowest peak. The air was thinning already, each long, drawn-out breath weighing heavily on my lungs; coating my veins with ice and my throat with lead. By noon the oncoming snow was a gentle kiss to my flushed face. The black clouds absently mirroring my dark mood.
I know the reason for leaving but I don't know why I'm going. I don't know why I left you there; cold, alone, and mangled at the base of the cliff.
Now I'm watching the ghostly trees turn golden as the setting sun spears through the clouds.
I'll be there soon, I'll be where we always dreamed of going. That plateu with the veiw over the horizon that cuts like a knife wound through the untouched forest.
But I'll be there without you.
