I don’t think i will ever reach the mountaintop i see in my dreams. 

That misty place where i see a version of myself that has accepted everything as it is. 

He smiles at me from his perch, beckoning me closer and speaking encouragement when i stumble. 

He never gets mad, nor does he need too, his face always showing a slight grin. 

He notices every raindrop, every bird call, and every cloud in the treetops. 

His expression is always one of compassion and understanding, he does not worry about the future or his health. He is grateful for each moment, for each joy and each tragedy. 

He has seen the truth in the flowing of the river, in the babies cry, and in the lovers embrace. 

I am not him, I can never be him, he will never be me, yet we are the same. 

He watches me climb and fall, and climb and fall and climb only to fall once more. 

Each day he prepares tea for my arrival, each day he beckons me to his understanding, knowing my lips will never drink from his cup. 

Yet i still climb, fall, then climb again. I will continue to do so for as long as i live.

This is the promise I make to myself each morning before I wake and each night just as sleep takes me: I will never stop, I was built for this climb, and though i will never reach its peak, each stone i cross and height i reach has lessons enough for lifetimes. 

So i keep climbing so that me and him may become one, so that one day i can sit and have tea with myself.