Distance Between Mountains

my sister and i
went for breakfast.


funny how the conversations
that matter most
always start regular.


coffee getting cold.


people around us
talking about ordinary things.


work.


rent.


weekends.


and somehow—


we end up talking
about chapters.


old ones.


the versions of ourselves
people keep introducing
long after they stopped fitting.


she’s a writer too.


so maybe
that’s why
the conversation hit different.


writers understand something—


the work changes
because you change.


same hands.


same mind.


same heart.


different eyes.


different pain.


different standards.


different questions.


and i kept trying to explain—


you’re still talented.


still you.


still capable.


your work is still yours.


but maybe
that version of you
doesn’t get to narrate
the next chapter anymore.


because progression
doesn’t always look dramatic.


sometimes
it just looks like
outgrowing
the room
your old self felt safe in.


sometimes
growth looks like
meeting another side
of yourself
and finally trusting it.


and i guess—


that’s what’s been sitting with me lately.


the guilt
of seeing too clearly.


seeing what somebody
could become
before they can see it.


seeing the road
while knowing
you can’t walk it for them.


because the paths
ain’t the same.


timing ain’t the same.


mountains ain’t the same.


and somewhere in that—


there’s guilt.


because clarity
starts feeling lonely.


—


i talk to my brothers
and lately—


i feel distance.


same love.


same history.


same people.


but something’s changing.


quietly.


they tell me
they love me.


and i know they do.


but sometimes
i wonder—


do they hear me,


or just hear the version of me
that sounds ambitious?


do they understand
what this becoming
actually costs?


or am i standing
too far away now
for the words
to land the same?


and maybe
that sounds harsh.


maybe unfair.


but i be sitting there
on the phone,
hearing the same stories.


same loops.


same habits.


same ways of thinking.


and a part of me
gets angry.


not at them.


at the feeling.


the feeling of seeing people
you love
capable of more—


and watching them
stay loyal
to a version of themselves
you already had to bury.


because somewhere along the way,
i changed.


quietly.


and now
i’m standing
at the peak
of one mountain—


already seeing
the next one
i gotta climb.


funny thing about elevation—


people think
the top is peace.


nah.


every peak
raises the baseline.


everything you survive.


everything you lose.


everything you integrate.


suddenly—


what used to feel impossible
becomes normal.


and the view changes.


you stop looking back
to prove how far you came.


you start looking forward
because your spirit
already knows—


another version
waiting.


higher.


hungrier.


quieter.


—


i know
i said
it’s lonely at the top.


but lately—


i think i understand
what i meant.


it’s lonely
because vision is expensive.


because growth
changes the rhythm.


because clarity
creates distance.


because sometimes
you still deeply love people
while realizing—


you’re not walking
the same road anymore.


and maybe
that’s the grief
people don’t talk about.


the grief
of becoming.


because the books—


they’re me.


but they aren’t me.


they’re timestamps.


old consciousness
pressed into pages.


proof
of somebody
i had to become
to meet
who i am now.


and maybe
that’s what i’m learning
to accept.


the guilt.


the distance.


the loneliness
that comes with direction.


love never changed.


never will.


but mountains?


mountains change people.


not because love disappears—


because elevation changes
what you can reach.


some people stay close
in the heart,


but far
on the path.


and maybe
that’s what i’m learning.


not every distance
is abandonment.


sometimes
it’s just proof


that two people
are standing


on different mountains,


looking at the same sky.


and i think
i’m finally learning


how to wave
at the people i love


from where i am—


without climbing down
from where life


is calling me next.


— Mr. Mak





Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

back when we were kids

back when we were kids, life was nothing but light, pavement, and laughter. longboards gliding down the trails, basketballs echoing through the evening air, music spilling out of those old ‘90s retro speakers we’d find in our parents’ basements — static, bass, and freedom. no phones glued to our hands, no pressure to post — just company. just presence. the world was wide open, and the only rule was, “come home before it gets dark.” we never cared. we always pushed it — one more ride, one more laugh, one more stretch of freedom before the world called us back. me and manvir — two kids who thought forever was real. we’d cross that broken bridge just to reach the other neighborhood, gripping the guardrails like our lives depended on it, pretending it was life or death — and in a way, it was. ’cause that’s what being a kid felt like: every small thing was everything. we didn’t know what healing was, didn’t need to. life hadn’t scarred us yet. we lived like every day was a movie we didn’t h...
Read more

lonely at the top

i know for me to climb to the top, i have to witness my idols get knocked off the mountain first. i’m only 25. my reign hasn’t begun, and i’m already measuring my fall. i remember watching from the fence— older kids running the slides the wrong way, hanging upside down from monkey bars, moving like time was endless. i waited my turn. dreamed of the day i’d finally be let outside. and when it came, the playground was empty. they didn’t lose the game. they just left it. pockets too grown. love diluted into club champagne and women— noise where meaning used to be. every day i grow, i feel this longing— to replicate this with my brothers. but then the days hit. i see them stuck in the same places, running out of patience, out of complacence. it hurts to not see them with me. maybe it wasn’t even them. maybe it’s really me that changed. damn. it wasn’t even them. it’s me that’s changed. i see myself at the pearly gates, every choice tilting the scale— one step closer to the abyss, my fallof...
Read more

The Surge and 5 Navels

  there are moments in life where the line between science, myth, and spirit collapses — and you don’t just read about them, you live them. today, i experienced one. i reread my vow, and the world went silent. the air stilled like reality itself paused to listen. then, when the words left my chest, the surge came. it wasn’t a metaphor. it wasn’t motivation. it was electricity. my nervous system lit up like a tesla coil. the buzzing was real — not imagined. my third eye went wild, pulsing with a rhythm i couldn’t explain. for a moment it felt chaotic, like lightning with nowhere to land. then, slowly, the surge settled into resonance. the crackle smoothed into a low hum, a sound like night itself breathing. that was the shift. campbell calls it the world navel — the umbilical cord through which eternity flows into time. tesla would call it resonance — high potential and high frequency aligning until the air itself vibrates. i call it the surge. and in that moment, i ...
Read more