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Is it really that bad, he thought? Is it so bad that even she cannot comprehend it? Perhaps, though, when one is enraptured, or, at least, detained by the attention of another, they cannot fathom again that destitute vortex that crushes everything, except for him, where he plights himself upon his strength, confides in himself (and her, for now that bond is what he combats), and says to settle is not viable. The weak cycle is a continuum that holds no mercy for the idleness which possesses him, the prostrate nature of a horizon may not tilt for his concern, but the hills sympathize, they do show some manner of breaking this incessant nagging. He will climb that hill, the tallest hill, where some few animals lay in crags, they stare at his wandering face, but even those animals with such violent cravings may lay docile, because he is just as they are, climbing to sustain oneself, climbing always to descend into a valley where one may regenerate enough to ascend once more.

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