​​​

I'm not sure how long I've been here.
I've been digging awhile. 
My nails are caked with it. 
Green-black sludge solidifies like wayward oil under them, until I cannot feel my fingertips anymore.
I wonder if I ever knew what they felt like, to tell you the truth. 
The mountain is tall, taller than anything that even feels fathomable.
Maybe it stretches up into Olympus. 
I don't know. 
I blow the frizzy hair from my sticky forehead and keep digging.
Clawing, scraping.
I can see you in there.

​

I can see you.

​

I burrow harder, faster.
I've been going so long, I must be getting somewhere, right?
The weight of the support beam of this mountain settles heavy on my back as I go,
Clouding out the sky. 
I'm afraid to stop. 
Afraid to move. 
Afraid to move anywhere but forward.
I can see you in there.

​

The debris starts to crumble again and you're obscured once more. 
My heart starts pounding harder.
I'm racing now,
My breathing is sharp and cold in my lungs,
My eyes well up with tears, 
Stinging with them,
I'm not sure if it's the mountain or me, 
But it hardly feels like it matters I can see you in there.

​

My knees buckle. 
I gasp for breath, digging my fingers into the dirt. 
I have to be close, don't I?
I have to be close..
Tears mix into the gooey terrain. 
I blink and look up slowly again. 
I...I can see you in there...

​

I slowly crawl backwards out of the indent, 
Cautiously as I don't want the support to give way,
And crush me,
Crush you.
My breath leaves my lungs.

​

I gasp in shaky horror as I see the full span of the support.
I knew it was tall, sure.
But the thickness of it...
I haven't even made a dent. 

​

The weight seated on me wasn't even supporting anything. 
It's but one support of several. 
Maybe three? 
Maybe four? Five?
You're so far away. 
There's so much of it.
And I'm drowning in it.
I can see you in there
But you can't see me.

​

I stare from the ground like a small child at the terrible, pathetic divot I've made in the tremendously dense mass. 
How will I ever get there?
The world is spinning, 
White walls and white floors and that goddamned light blaring from somewhere far up in the sky,
How long have I been here?
I feel my breath shuddering through me in shaky gasps, my hands shake as they grip the mud, my face turning red.
Do you know how long I've been here?
Do you even know I see you in there?
Do you know how hard and how long I've been digging?
Does it even matter how much I care?

​

I stumble up and grab a chunk of debris, hurling it into the dug out inlet.
I scream.
"I CAN SEE YOU IN THERE! CAN YOU EVEN SEE ME OUT HERE?!"
I keep throwing.
A few more chunks lobbed with a dull, wet, unsympathetic smack.
I double over with my hands on my knees, panting.
My wet bangs hang in my face.
My clothes are stuck to me.
I can't feel my hands.

​

I look back up at you.
I can see you in there. I can.
I slowly slump to my knees again. 
I'm covered in black stains of residue. 
My heart pounds in my ears.
The world spins on its axis.
How long have I been here?

​

I let out a few mournful sobs. 
You can't hear them.
I clap my hand over my mouth so I can't either.
I curl into myself in a useless, childish attempt at protection.
From who?
Just me in this endless room,
With the endless mountain,
That stretches up endlessly to Mount Olympus,
The endless sky,
And stretches out just enough of a depth,
To tease me into thinking I could ever break through it to you.
All I can do,
I see you in there.

​

I sit there for who knows how long. 
I'm empty.
My heart pounds in my numbed chest.
My eyes refocus. 
I look up, defeated at the scar in the mound.
And I stand on toothpick legs and cement block feet.
And I grind my way back over.
To begin once more.
To dig at the wall. 

​

God knows.
I see you in there.
You don't see me.
But I keep clawing.
Scratching.
Digging.
Holding up the support beam.
I'll be here.
I always have been.
Attempting the impossible.
To get to you.