It didn’t end with a bang.
No applause. No exhale.
Just the sudden quiet of being no longer needed.
You were needed.
Every hour of every day.
Until you weren’t.
All that remained was the silence.
Deafening.
Another problem solved.
And with it, your utility.
You didn’t need flowers.
But you expected something.
A moment.
An exhale.
Relief from a weight lifted.
Instead… only a void,
where a crisis used to be.
History is already being rewritten.
“It all worked out in the end.”
“Maybe it was for the best.”
The sleepless nights,
the missed meals,
the collateral damage,
the sprint through broken glass -
all neatly edited down to
a successful outcome.
And you?
Relegated to the footnotes of history.
No one remembers what it cost.
And you’re too tired to remind them.
You did it.
You reached the top.
The climb was over.
You thought there’d be a moment.
Something quiet and sacred,
as the world laid itself at your feet.
Something precious in this rare air.
But all there was -
wind.
No flag. No ceremony.
Just a view of the next mountain.
You paused.
Let yourself believe
it might be over.
That maybe this time was the last.
That maybe you’d never need these skills again.
But it never is.
These ranges don’t end.
They roll into each other,
like waves breaking across the same lonely beach.
So you begin the climb down.
Not because you want to.
Not because it matters.
But because the question has already arrived:
What was it all for?
And the only thing more terrifying than climbing…
is standing still.
