Terrible Geography

The mind has peaks no Sherpa knows sudden drops where thoughts thin out like oxygen at twenty thousand feet. Avalanche thoughts bury certainty. Your grip tears skin on ice-sharp edges of almost-understanding. Below are the crevasses deep as yesterday's regrets, echoing familiar voices lost in white. Wind cuts through the space between base camp comfort and what waits above the death zone. Frostbite burns circle your fingertips the attempt to hold what altitude has already stolen. Only the fallen know the weight of thin air. Only the hanging over glacier cracks know the value of solid ground. This terrible geography some must navigate alone.