Running, walking, climbing, leaping, falling up those familiar carpeted stairs.
I say familiar, yet, in a way that's difficult to explain, they always seemed rather unfamiliar. Like a dream you've dreamt before, part of you knows that this is a room you've been in, in previous nights. Yet, in another state of consciousness, the room is completely distant and unrecognizable.
Much of me felt like I belonged on that staircase. But, there was also a strong sense whispering otherwise. Not that I was necessarily unwelcome, more as if some premonition was urging me to flee - I ignored this. And, instead, fell in love with the uncertainty. I was at home in the arresting nook half-way up, half-way down. And you,
What's the intent of climbing if one is not able to reach the top? Is that not the desire? To take in the view from the summit? To climb the hill to see the valley?
I now know that it's not that I failed to reach the peak, but rather that there was no conceivable peak to reach. So, in that perilous midway crypt is where I stayed. It's where we all stayed. At least I had company.
It must've been indescribably desolate atop, keeping watch.