Love On A Mountain Top

In my grand 24 years of living, I’ve experienced the sublimity of nature on only a few occasions. One of them was on a cliff right below Sumela Monastery in Turkey. It was in the dead of winter, and on that cliff, I experienced deep awe and a quiet fear of the potential terrors that loomed around me. Those two emotions intermingled like strangers meeting for the first time, and yet, negated the fullness of which each could birth.

You had patronised my stubbornness to climb to the monastery even though public transport had stopped riding up for the season. “Since we’re already here,” you said. We took a taxi up, and we rode up the winding ice-clad path, making a deal with the driver to wait for us for an hour. Upon making our pact, we trudged up, carefully guiding each other through 4cm of sturdy ice -two senseless adventurers in the big expanse.

We sat down together in the orchestral quiet, making two butt dents in the snow, and gazed at this miraculous view. Nothing special really, except for the fullness and contentment that overwhelmed me there and then. This felt to me the apex of my love for you, and it’s a memory that i’ve romanticised over and over. To be on a mountaintop with a lover. It has been two years on and we’ve come to pass as lovers. Nonetheless, this crystallised memory continues to bask in its unfazed serenity and glory.