The mountain
wasn’t always paved and laced with friendly walks. Every trail we wander down
was hewn once out of rock that seemed impassable. The paths we cut through all
the craggy reaches – they’re our own. We march headlong into the blinding mist,
because. Because. Because to grip survival with both hands is not enough, when
the light shines just perceptible beyond. There are greater things the world
hasn’t imagined yet. Believe there is a mad nobility in fighting for our own
stories.
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