They say mustard seeds can move mountains. So how did I end up on the opposite side of it? Its tough exterior mocked the clouds hanging in the sky, mimicking their shape. Deceiving them like it did me the day Claire walked out the door. She didn’t take my heart with her, just some toiletries she didn’t really need. You know typical girl stuff. I wonder if she was being sarcastic again. She’d rather hold onto an old toothbrush than an old me. Claire was tough like that; tall but delicate. She had the appearance of a lightweight but I knew I could never carry her. She was a rare stone, or a beautiful picture carved into concrete. The wind blew a cool breeze slightly. I silently prayed it would rain. At least then I’ll have an excuse for why reality crawled its way out of my throat. Besides, they say men are not supposed to cry. Claire always thought that was stupid logic. Maybe that’s because she was always around water, so water on cheeks wasn’t a big deal to her. I smiled weakly. I’d always been in love with her mind. No wonder I found myself here; on the edge of the dramatic Columbia River Gorge, a steeply pitched, creek-like river chasm where the hills roll over and over like new carpet, and the water spread its body over the land like fine silk. I gave Claire silk once. An anniversary present for our six months together. She said it was too soon. That I should stop taking so much time out of my vacation to visit her. How can love ever be too soon? That is something we always disagreed on. Anyway, enough about Claire. I read somewhere that they were closing this place down. No more tourists they said. I bet it was Claire. This trip was supposed to be my celebration for finally having the strength to not care about her anymore. She may have me now but dear Mountain Claire, I will reach you soon.