Oh, mountains. I haven’t been home for two weeks, and I miss you already. Every time I find myself in mountainous terrain I ask myself why I live in this godforsaken flatland of a place, bereft of forest and all. I’m in love, there’s no doubt about it. The deep, mad kind of love, which makes one go oh wow I want to be with you forever will you please let me worship you?
But I’m not sure I could stand living with them in the long run. I would have pretty much constant access to things that now are to me rare luxuries: snow, darkness, aurora, excellent stargazing opportunities, silence, solitude, breathtaking beauty. That is a fact. But would it be worth the price of isolation? My roots here have grown deeper than I intended, and I am aware of how painful it would be to pull them up. It is a dangerous thing to make friends with people, you know. They might make you feel like you belong.
But then again, the feeling of longing is so strong that I cannot help thinking about how and when I will next be able to visit them, even while I’m still there. If that’s love or just plain old human inability to be content in the present situation I’m not sure, but the feeling doesn’t seem to go away. I guess what I need is to find a balance between the joy I find in having a home amidst people I love and who care about me and my desire for beauty and adventure. Right now that would mean keeping the mountains in a long-distance relationship.
Does it make sense to love someone (or something, in this case) who lacks the capacity to love you back? Can it ever bring anything other than pain? Sometimes I wish I had the ability to control, or at least direct, my desires. But then again, if I somehow managed to have them removed, I’m not sure there would me much left of me.
Love and mountains,
Winterdragon
