The mountains are beautiful this time of year.

Spring has arrived and so have the birds,
and the bees,
and the flowers,
and even the weeds.

Spring has arrived but my chest has not.
Nor my hips,
my posterior,
or my libido.

Yes, spring has arrived but still She eludes me.

The mountains are beautiful this time of year.
Towering high above our abode,
keeping watch
ever vigilantly.

If I had a million dollars, I’d quit my job
and trek to one of their peaks.
Seclude myself away while I grow,
change,
metamorphose.

If only for a few years, I’d like to live upon them.
Away from all the people —
enough time for everyone to forget Him;
enough time for me to know to Her.

The mountains are beautiful this time of year.
The clouds hang above so peacefully,
gently drifting in the breeze,
carefree.

I’d like to soar alongside them —
high, high above.
To spare myself the awkward moments,
embarrassing encounters,
and dirty looks.

To watch from above how to be a woman.
To learn how to move,
how to speak;
how to be the person that I am,
instead of the person I’m not.

The mountains are beautiful this time of year.
Their slopes dotted with bristly trees,
forever bathed in a deep shade.

So, too, is my face —
veiled in an ever-present five o’clock shadow.
But unlike the mountains,
it is not pretty on me.

It is ugly and heinous.
A reminder of this obscene birthright forced upon me.
My captor —
this body.
It refuses to let go.

The mountains are beautiful this time of year, aren’t they?
Their cerulean and verdant hues like brushstrokes
from an unseen colossal artist.

I think of them as I paint in the mirror each morning.
But I never turn out quite so beautiful
as the mountains above.

I am enveloped in beauty,
immersed in rich scenery.
Yet so devoid of it in myself.

I’m trying.
O, god, I’m trying!
I’m doing my damnedest,
but it feels like it isn’t enough.

The mountains are beautiful this time of year,
and they intimidate me.

Will I ever compare?
Could I ever harness their beauty?
Is it conceited to desire such things?
Do these musings make me a lesser person?

Indeed, the mountains are so beautiful this time of year.
And I know you’re beautiful, too.
Sometimes I catch glimpses of you.
A trick of the light?
Maybe,
I’m delusional,
or maybe,
I’ve finally started to piece together who I really am;
who you are —
who We are.

I can’t wait to finally meet you
in full,
but I wish it could be under different circumstances.
Simpler times.
Safer times.
I wish this could be our little secret —
just you and me.
With all the time in the world to ourselves,
until we’re ready to reintegrate into society.

The mountains are so damn beautiful this time of year.
I take them for granted, I know.
I’m so focused on what could be,
or what will be,
or what was,
I forget what is.

Those mountains?
They’ve always been beautiful, truthfully.
Just like you.
You’ve always been there, just under the surface;
waiting,
waiting
so patiently.

Thank you
for not giving up;
for clinging onto hope
even when I had lost mine many years ago.

I’m here now, wrapped in the warm embrace
of those beautiful mountains. ❤️