i keep saying i want the mountain hush

by Sofia G., Leadership Scholars

i keep saying i want the mountain hush

a paperback sky dog-eared at dawn, creek water soft as mint tea

i would wake inside a postcard, hold the corners down, breathe moss

long afternoons bleed into each other, violets in my teeth, ink on my wrist

and i run—god, i run—until the slope tilts, lungs spill forward,

the face i thought was mine sails off like a hat in wind,

everything spins honey green and i forget my own address

no

i rewrite myself in new york noise

coffee steam on glass doors, turnstile ribs clicking hello,

my name soldered to marquees that don’t spell it right

weekday suits press like ice against skin, i polish stories for strangers

rooftops taste of battery bright prosecco, velvet light floods the room

talk stacks higher-higher until vowels fog, glasses sweat, air buckles

someone laughs too close, plates shatter somewhere behind my chest—

i am crystal taking on the shape of every voice at once, then cracking

no

wipe the slate / strike the keys / breathe again

somewhere softer exists in the half-lit margin—maybe here, maybe not

i want light that folds over friends like a blanket, gold leaking gentle

from shoulder to shoulder until we all glow the same warm code

picnic laughter, street-side pasta, back-of-club bass with a best friend’s grin

nothing static, only kindness rehearsed daily, a pulse i chase barefoot

helping, holding, staying soft—happiness not a place but a practice

and i keep running beside it, open-handed, steady this time,

face intact, heart whole, still learning the rhythm of enough