You fight for you and no one else.
You sit poised at the trail head deep in thought. Your body sits like a stone, cross legged. Frost creeps over your finger tips and vines wrap around your ankles. A statue. Unmoving and unwilling to leave this place.
You sit like a statue because of what? Fear? Fear of walking down the wrong path? Or fear that this path will lead to more paths and more walking. More bone crushing ache. More exhaustion. It’s easier just to sit.
But as you sit, you watch the others walk past. Some fly by, their feet barely touching the ground. So quick to shoot forward that they pass in a rush, hurtling ahead. Others walk by, they observe and they watch the world, but at a slow and steady pace they press forward. Others pull themselves by their fingertips, every stone digging into them, dirt in their eyes and weeping, but they drag themselves forward.
You? You sit. You watch. You imagine yourself as a heroine in one of your books and your stomach turns. If you were like them you would not be sitting here, watching life rush past you. You would break the vines twisting around your feet, brush off the frost and lurch forward.
Not because you saw the others and felt like you needed to push forward as they did. But because you believe in you. Because you want to climb that mountain. To feel the burn in your legs. To feel your shoulders ache. To pant and to cry, but then to look out and see how far you’ve come.
You would push forward because you believe in you. You fight for you.