From afar, I approach the white rocks. Millions of years have given them permanence. Their crags and juts set them off against the burning blue sky. As I approach I stare at the sun, feel it stealing my sight. When I am blinded, I turn back toward the rock.

In the shadows collecting in its base I pause, feeling the coolness at my front and the heat at my back. In the silence of its immensity I can feel my thoughts clamoring like birds overhead.

Reaching the strong white face of the rock is much like my experience of you. I place my hands against its curves, previously hidden but so obvious up close, so sensual. Heat pours off, into my skin. I press a little harder and the rock is all resistance. It’s not going anywhere. It’s certain.

I could hit the rock, pound on it, and it would still refuse to move. It can withstand my anger and my doubt, like you. I don’t bother asking why. This rock makes me sure of everything. This rock that is you.

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