Scream
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...