Is it lonely to stand so tall?
A mountain with nothing, no one else, in its view.
Is it dry to find you have no fear left,
and to know that the length of the universe is nothing but however many steps you take?
Is it terrible to be infinitely alive?
To have nowhere else, no end, no way to die?
how long is it, exactly, to be free?
Life is pointless as a striving, but marvellous as an allowance.
It takes as long as it takes.
Each for their own.
You are never late.
You, simply, are.