I want to cut wood and lift stones on a mountain until the end of time. I want to get my hands coarse and dirty with earth, I want to get my arms wet with snow. I want to forget everything but the smell of leaves, stone and moss.

I want to let my fur and hair grow as long as they want to grow, and forget everything human. I want to make myself alike rock and ice, and fear no cold.

I want to watch the rain fall. I want to build a cabin with my bare hands, I want to breathe nothing but cold air. I want to drink and bathe myself in the river, with cold water as cold as the mountain goes.

I want to forget it all — your smell, my smell. Your looks, my looks. Were you and I are from. None of that matters.

I want to live on a mountain and be indistinguishable from it.

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