There was a man, a man who had the power to create. He created the mountains, the rivers, the winds, the rains. They called him heartless, for he never talked. People would come and go, but he would stay on top of his favourite mountain, building landscapes out of nothing.
They called him heartless, for they didn’t know he had loved and lost. The mountain he loved, was once a gift to the love of his life, who one day, had flown off into the sky, to become the brightest star of the night sky.
He spent all his life, creating marvels around him, just to keep the world away from his gift. With time, his teardrops became hailstorms, his heartbeats, the sound of water trickling through the grass, his blood, the waterfall that brought life to the valley, his skin, the soft mud on the top of the mountain. He spent his last breath reaching out, becoming the sky that would yearn for the star till eternity.
When he passed on, mortals made a temple of stone for him and called him ‘The Mountain God’. He was a lover, who had loved and lost.
(This is a fictional piece written for entertainment purposes only. Follow #Wanderings, for there are more stories lined up.)