He slowly unfurled his fingers, breaking their vice like grip on the rock face. Gingerly he inspected himself, taking stock of his own body- every muscle, every bone. With a deep sigh he sat. Tired. No, exhausted. His lined hood hauled up, scrunched around his face, he awaited the euphoric feeling on success. The feeling of mastery. The feeling of limitless power. But all he could taste was loneliness. All he could feel was fatigue, aching muscles and sore limbs. And dread for the way down. He sighed again, lifting his gloved hand up to his face, catching a wafting snowflake in his palm. He examined the delicate intricacy, the muted chaos, the ephemeral surreal object before him. He watched as it sat unmoving in his hand, a stark contrast to the blowing sleet and gale that surrounded his perch. And then, in one decisive movement he blew the crystal skeleton into the wind and watched as it began its long, arduous decent into vast nothing. “For you.” He though as he turned his back to the wind and the heavens and forged his way, once again, higher. For you.
— Written sometime in 2015