We went climbing.
And I liked auto-belaying, but you wanted me to try it both ways. And I was afraid to let go of the wall, but you supported me. You kept me up. And you told me to keep climbing, that I could get higher.
To take a second, rest, and then keep going. I set my sights on the orange rock, and I looked down at you. I wanted to impress you.
When we walked in, you were a rockstar. They all knew who you were, and looked at me, quizzically. They must have been able to tell. We revolved into each other, even standing three feet apart. We looked at each other and it was palpable. I wonder what they assumed; me, with you.
I was with the climbing rockstar. I learned the methods, and faced my initial fears. And I wanted to keep going. So you coached me up the wall. My arms were numb, and I couldn’t grip the holds anymore. And you said to keep going.
I reached the orange rock. And then I let go. You guided me down, and I landed on my feet.
I wish you could have done that with us.
But auto-belaying is fine, too. I can do it myself. Land on my feet. Go climbing again. And get past the orange rock.
I will always think of you, though. Because you convinced me to climb in the first place.
You told me to tell you when I got to the top one day. You said we’d travel, climb other places. You said you could see that future in your mind, and you looked so excited.
Now, I want two things. I still want to climb. And I still want you.
I will at least climb.
And maybe one day I will get to tell you that I made it to the top.