In the early morning, the sky cleared, and every mountain peak was capped with white.
Mountains and rivers are meant to be this way, aging yet undying, observing silently, devoid of emotion, witnessing the myriad sufferings and joys of the mortal realm; with feelings, what remains in the end is only loneliness and sorrow.
"If the heavens have feelings, they too would grow old..." The young man sighed, and then thought of his talent for "immortality," feeling a slight stirring within.
He had only been here for two years, but he would live on for two hundred years, two thousand years, twenty thousand years, two million years, until eventually...
And as time passed, would he too become like the mountains and rivers, emotionless yet ageless?
"What wishful thinking... in this world, whether one can live to that point is still uncertain."
