A woman, showing her back to us, standing in front of a landscape of mountains

So often, I dream of climbing the highest of mountains, where I can feel the sky’s soft skin with the very tip of my fingers. I can just picture it: standing on that mountaintop, the world so small underneath, the loud grasping wind awakening my soul as it blows violently against my face. I can just imagine the air cutting through my lungs and tearing them open, the taste of salty blood caressing my throat.

Oh but mostly, I can hear myself. I can hear myself scream.

I would scream as loud as my lungs can possibly bare, right until my voice turns into just a whisper.

I would scream to fill the sky with my infinite yet crooked note, using every single inch of my body to bring it to life.

I would scream until my breath is cut short by the gods and I would scream until my voice cuts through heaven, through hell and through time.

I would scream like it was the last time I could ever use my own voice.

I would scream. Simply scream, because I am alone on a mountain, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded only by the sound of the wind. And… well, it seems like the obvious thing to do, doesn’t it?

Because while I am up there, I get to scream the pain away. To just throw my sins and mistakes into open air where I will never have to feel them again.  

I get to scream the burden right off of my shoulders and watch it fall endlessly down the hill.

And I can only imagine how light I would feel after having ripped every last trace of you out of my body and into nothingness.

I can only hope to heal what you have left of my lungs, to cleanse them from the breaths taken from the same air that you consumed.

I can only hope to rebuild myself, to breathe in a new part of me that you will have never touched, and that you will never touch again.

Yes... I can just picture it: standing on that mountaintop, the world so small underneath… that world without you in it.

United Arab Emirates