Your immensity and my diminuition  are not mutually exclusive. I, by nature of existing as this tiny blip, a mere speck, a smudge, a spot, an ant, a period. I, by nature of existing create your necessity. You need my tiny toes as much as I need your tumbling miles of stone. Formed in a cycle of reciprocation, oxygen to carbon dioxide to oxygen. Vapor to cloud to rain to tears to vapor. An ouroboros of respiration.

I’ve watched a tree sprout from an unlikely crevice. I’ve seen lichen bloom in the face of frosty wind. I’ve felt the life-force of ants parade cross my naked skin. I’ve seen visions of forest fires in your smoky exhalation and felt the timberline in your embrace.

I look down at your soft folds, treacherous beneath the cover of pine and ache to spread my arms and lie down. To cover myself in your blanket, the continental divide my bedside table.

The act of falling into bed, letting go with a gasp and a tip of the feet. Giving in to my final nature with an eternal grin.

There is no terror here, no abiding unease. My anxiety has completely slipped away. There is nothing to life. Nothing to identity. Nothing to stirring. Nothing but the boulders beneath my feet, the cold wind on my neck, and the hot sun on my shoulders.

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