It was march-like only in my persistence.
Onwards and upwards. Doggedly.
But stumbling, faltering, as sobs racked
my body and water abandoned my eyes.
The stones and mud and streams
criss-crossing the path like cuts
halted my need-to-sit desires.
I just carried on - up and up.
The hill was tiring
and I was blinded from the beauty
of the view mostly, 'though panting
I leaned in rest once (or twice).
And the prettiness only made me ache
more. Some people are unbearable
and I hate how the boy had me trapped.