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It starts the same every time. I sit and lie on my bed thinking of how painful it is to live. How a life can be so hard for some. I know they have a purpose. I know everything in nature has a pattern and meaning. And often amounts to something great. but it’s so hard. Their lives have maybe more importance, or maybe just the same as people who are doing well. No one has a perfect life, but some lives are just so much easier to live. Thinking about the fames in warzone countries in Africa, trickles of water rolls out of my eyes and along my cheek. Here we go again. Im going to cry and cry. The world won’t change. Why do I need to cry? I feel worse after anyway, with a stuffy nose and puffy eyes. The salty tears increases, I’m definitely crying now. I shift over to my dressing table and stare into my painstaking soul. Why can’t I save the world?
I watch the abundance of tears that flow out of my eyes. I imagine myself as a huge beautiful mountain. With little bits of jagged edges. Dark shadows below the light green trees. And bright white flowers growing from in between the cracks.
Towards the end of the mountain is gushing water. Flowing rapidly over the protruding rocks at the bottom of the mountain. It’s beautiful and perfect. White and bright blue sparkling water against shades of brown of the mountain. Like a painting, a masterpiece I am.
As I cry and cry hoping it will help, I realise: “Oh dear the mountain is drowning.” Surrounded by water that rises a centimetre daily. Slowly, slowly this mountain will no longer be. A huge eye, formed by the edges of the mountain, is crying, water pouring over the rocks. The mountain is drowning itself. Consumed by its own pain.
Nothing helps. Not tears. Not knives. I cannot help myself. No one can help me. A dark room a dark world, the pain just increases day by day. I can hear the cries of millions of people. Ringing in my ears are the struggles of children. Children younger than me in worse situations.
Rocky mountains stand beside it. Dry and hot. But taller than ever. My masterpiece my beauty, is just entrapment. No hands to wipe the tears. No legs to run away. No resources to save the world.
But wait! This amazing scenery makes the world happy. People are happy to see such beauty, furthermore this mountain has a purpose. It grows flowers and trees that help the earth. It creates shallow gushing water so bears can feed on fish. And don’t forget the adventure seeking river rafters, they love rapids.
“Wait what are you doing?” A voice in my head asks. “We sad right now. Don’t try to use that positive shit on me. I’m not happy. I don’t want to be happy. I’m feeling down, down as low as the waterfall, falling to my death. I’m not making up positive thoughts in my head. That just irritates my sad. My sad needs to live and be expressed.”
I am a mountain: Isolated, immovable and eventually non-existent.