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I feel like a single blade of grass growing upon top, of a big, black desolate mountain. The mountain top extends up into the dark, lonely sky. I grow sparingly through out the years. The cold, bitter wind tossing my life violently back and forth, trying to up root my weakening hold. I struggle against the giant sized rain drops that deliberately grasp me, seizing my entire existence as they slowly slide down my frail, narrow surface. I pray for the days that the sunlight freely shines on me. I hope to grow and grow, never to stop until I reach the heavens. It gets so lonely up here, all alone. I can stretch my withering frame while I lean my head to one side, soaking up all the warm voices I hear. So I try to pull myself out of the rocky soil that my life depends upon for survival. I want so much to roll down the enormous mountain and fall into the aura of warmth and security that awaits below.