Towards the Summit, towards Myself

I had tears rolling down my cheeks,

fatigue made it impossible to cry.

The sobs were relentless,

breathing, hard to come by.

At 19,000 feet above the ground,

the air was thin and sharp,

biting at my skin

with every gust of wind.

 

I worried

if I stopped walking,

I would freeze.

Not just my body,

but something deeper;

something that dared to hope.

 

And then I saw it, from a distance,

my milestone:

the highest point in Africa.

Only a kilometer more.

Yet it stretched ahead like forever.

 

I was overflowing with emotions

all kinds:

        fear of freezing,

        the thrill of being just a few steps away,

        happiness at breaking boundaries

I once believed were fixed,

and a quiet excitement

for what waited beyond the summit.

 

In that moment, ready to give up;

I looked up

and there it was:

Kilimanjaro,

rising above the snow-covered trail,

glorious,

silent,

unmoving.

 

Walking, sobbing, wiping my tears,

then walking more.

I stopped crying,

pulled myself together,

and kept going.

 

Step by step,

towards the summit.

Towards myself.