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The climb up the mountain wasn't the hardest part. It was when he reached to the plateau that his muscles wearied. It was when he laid his pick down, that he forgot to use it; laid his rope down to later unwind it; laid himself down to look down and feel accomplished. It was when he reached the plateau, land of lack of loveliness, that he took refuge in deviating from his good intentions to make one thousand useless ones.


And he will die there, looking up at the mountain's peak, wondering why he sufficed for an eternal break instead of breaking his own expectations.