Each day is an endless climb, inching closer and closer to the top of a mountain. A top that I cannot see. A top shrouded in a thick blizzard that surrounds me on all angles. Sometimes I come upon a ledge, and warm myself with a small flame. But the flame dies, and the climb resumes. My hands are worn, and my feet are sore from the mountain's jagged edges. I know I'll never reach the top, but the climb is all there is.