almost didn't want to say it but the thought gets louder in the silence: what if this is as good as it gets? not in a bad way, exactly. more like, what if the constant striving is...the point? and the relief that cracks through that worry, small but present, like sunlight through a crack in the wall i've spent years building, a way of bracing for impact, a way to make sure nobody ever sees the real me, sweating and trembling and triple checking the locks before i leave, for what exactly? for the phantom feeling that i forgot something, left something undone, even when i know i didn't, know i did everything i was supposed to, but the KNOWING doesn't change the FEELING, so what if this is it, the cage and the key side by side, and the only way out is to accept the cage. The mountain doesn't care about my striving. It simply IS. And that quiet, unyielding presence is the only thing that ever truly calmed the frantic scramble within.