(via audrey-darko-deactivated2011072)

And I always cry when it gets to the weird parts. Start the sentence in the middle because the beginning ends up where you don’t want to be. Overnighters, all-nighters, hovering all over the one you consider a knight - shining armor dead-ends with your shining amour. Disappointment and fragility, turn to twelve then count the hours back again. Consider meshing time I won’t get back, mixing between the chicken wire with different species leads to ladybugs yet again. I’m never shocked when they eat away your leaves, yet leaving leaves a lucky lady luckily without persistant pesticides. Please don’t protest if I take this personally, but person’s all I’ve really got left inside my -ality. Ivory keys buckle knees, tickle these, pretty please, ‘till the birdies and the bees float back ‘cross the summer seas, attracting you like mice to cheese with all the pretty lies he weaves until you find yourself at ease despite his many maladies, and at the end when your ship heaves you’ll think your old life quite a breeze and you’ll beg me, pretty please, to tickle those old ivory keys. So much for a breath of fresh air, oxygen replaced by oxycontin and blue-hued atmosphere all smogged up by what humanity defines as a good time. Party all you want, but when the sky dissolves it’s the ladybugs that will irk the atoms of all the flora rather than surrendering the environment to the state you’d secretly prefer. Pause and play when rumors of the footsteps down the stairs reach your ears, reaching beyond hope, hoping beyond belief that physics contains a fatal flaw, knowing full well that all is fair in love and science. Fate, faith, flawed falls and falling feathers, oh what a world we have weathered: you his mouse and he your chedder, all that we have done together tossed into the bin forever, nothing seen and nothing heard save a single mournful word, muttered under muffled breath, the only word that we’ve got left and one you’ll never know or see as you wander ignorantly.

What is it about altitude that makes climbing so appealing? Something about finding a way up gives me a thrill, lets me know that there’s one more thing I can do in the world: I can’t be pinned down by something as trivial as gravity. Planning when to do it, that’s one more drop in the water. No one knows where I am, aside from my climbing partner. All the pressure, the expectations, the influence of the world is gone, because no one even knows where I am. The execution, that’s even more primal. My mind shuts down, the only thing that matters is the next step, the next grab, next pull. Making sure that my foot has a solid grip, feeling the strain in my arm as I pull up, time after time after time. It’s a rush, in its simplest form. But not a rush of adrenaline. I know I have the strength, the ability; I know I can make it. I’m not scared. Falling is not a concern. There are no concerns. There’s just the next fluid movement. The world has successfully melted away. When you’re standing on top of the building, you can see the world laid out in front of you - the world you are usually a part of - and you know that it’s gone. It’s stuck down at the bottom, and from the top you can watch the planet turn. All your worries are on the ground, and with the weight on your shoulders lifted, you are lighter than air, free to do as you please. Run, walk, sing, jump, laugh, cry, talk and talk and talk. It’s the beauty of the world laid out in front of you, wind in your hair and a view that stretches on and on to encompass even your own emotions. Altitudes are the ultimate high.