He says that Mountain never excites him,
But he savors the views as he reaches the mountain’s peak.
He always says he never love that Mountain,
But he feels his best while exploring its thickest terrain,
Amidst the echo of murmuring beasts.

He says he never falls in love with that Mountain,
But he always returns, drawn by an irresistible pull when loneliness knocks at his door.
He says he is never meant to be a mountain person,
But he always comes back broken,
And leaves like a golden vase, whole again,
As if that Mountain is his true home.

He says he never loves that Mountain,
But he cherishes the touch of the cool breeze on his skin,
The way the Mountain’s embrace feels like a caress.
He says that Mountain is not meant for his love,
But he finds himself lost in its curves and valleys,
Each step a dance, each climb a passionate embrace.

He says he couldn’t imagine being in love with the Mountain,
But he is captivated by its wild beauty as it adds color to his plain life.
He says he is never meant to be a mountain person,
But he always leaves a piece of his heart behind in its caves,
And takes with him that Mountain’s essence.

He says he never loves that Mountain,
But it shares secrets whispered in the wind,
Stories of hidden trails and forbidden paths.
He says he never loves that Mountain,
But it knows his deepest fears and wildest dreams,
Each visit a confession, each return a renewal.

He says this ain’t the Mountain that swayed him,
But this Mountain holds his secrets in its silent embrace,
The way it understands his unspoken words.
He says he is never going to be a mountain person,
But the Mountain knows him better than anyone,
As he leaves with its secrets and scents, as if they were his own.

-A Solivagant’s Shoes