Cold.

You’ve been here for lifetimes, clinging, frozen.

Alone.

The rest of them are dead, the ones you left behind.
Now you’re alone.

You’re permanent now, you’re forever now;
fused, bonded, a macabre embrace.

Is it enough?
Would contentment ever come either way?

Legends will surely die one day,
even long after the grave.

Would it give you something you didn’t have?
Would it give you back what you already had?
Cold and alone. Were you always this way?

Would contentment ever come either way?

Could contentment have come any other way?

Inspired by George Mallory.

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