Comprehending the Climb

I am laying flat against the earthy grass. The cool dampness provides a pleasant sensation on my bare belly. I glance down from the ledge to see you several feet below. I reach over, stretching. My fingertips wiggling with excitement; "Please come join me," they say.

You extend your arms up high. I can see you on your tippy toes. Our hands clasp for a satisfied moment. With concentrated effort, I begin to pull you up. I want you here with me. Suddenly, you jerk away. "Relax," you say. You don't want me to pull on you.

For an instant, I am struck with anxious self-doubt. But I look around. What a beautiful scenic view I've been blessed with experiencing. I will not allow corrupt thoughts to enter into my being today. Not now. Not with you here with me, even if you are unwilling, or too tired, uninterested, or unable for whatever reason, to join me at the top.

"I just want you to see what I see," I say, calmly trying to explain my position. "To feel what I feel. On the same level as me. That's all."

I jump down to where you are. Standing in front of you, my fingers stroke through your hair. I stay for a moment or two, watching you. Your eyes are closed; your breathing registers a level of content. The corners of your lips lift into a small smile. Then, you provide me with the leverage I need to climb back up to the top, to a place which has given me immense gratification.

I just want to say, "Thank you."