The Man On Top Of The Hill

There was a man who stood on the top of a hill and let the wind whip his face red just so he could see the sun rise. He let the light burn his eyes white hour after hour just so he could watch the sun move through the sky. He didn't eat or drink all day just to stand on the hill and watch the sun set into the night. And he didn't sleep all night waiting for the sun to wake once again.

He stood on top of the hill for years wishing he were on the surface of the sun, waiting, hopefully, to finally be close enough to taste it, close enough to hear it breathe. He stood on top of the hill for years and waited and waited and waited.