From The Mountain Tops V2
by @manuel78 on Manuel
View my bio on Blurt.media: https://blurt.media/c/manuel78 
From the mountain tops V2 , lyrics by me plus lyric generator
story below based off the lyrics - made with ai
[Intro - 8 bars]
From the mountain tops...to the rivers drop...
I'll be missing you...
[Verse 1 - 16 bars]
From the spot you woke to the place you stood...
I'll be missing you,I will...
You were back,but you have a life now...
I sit here all alone...waiting for your grace to be in my embrace...
[Pre-Chorus - 8 bars]
I'm here thinking of you...every breath I take...
Every second wasted...I'll be missing you...
[Chorus - 16 bars]
A pain I feel deep within my heart,I know!
I miss you so much,I feel down when you're not around!
I wish you were here,deep within my arms!
Holding each other tight,nothing else matters tonight!
Because you're here with me!
[Verse 2 - 16 bars]
Would you like some food?I will feed you now...
I love you so,with every command you say I will drop for you...
Each and every time,toss me a command, I will respond...
Kissing every inch...I love you so...
[Chorus - 16 bars]
A pain I feel deep within my heart,I know!
I miss you so much,I feel down when you're not around!
I wish you were here,deep within my arms!
Holding each other tight,nothing else matters tonight!
Because you're here with me!
[Bridge - 16 bars]
I love the way you talk...
I love the way you fight...
I love the way you laugh at me,oh yeah...
I love the way you pout at me...
I love the way you dance...
I love the way you wiggle while you drop it low...
There's hardly anything that you do to me that I don't like...
So honey,do it all to me... although I may scream I need help tonight...
[Final Chorus & Outro - 20 bars]
A PAIN I FEEL DEEP WITHIN MY HEART,I KNOW!
(...I'll be missing you...)
I'll be missing you...
From the mountain tops...
(Vocal echo fades)...missing you...
The Geography of a Ghost
The view from Elias’s new apartment was supposed to be a selling point. From the mountain tops... to the rivers drop... the realtor had said, gesturing dramatically at the skyline where jagged peaks met the winding silver thread of the river far below. But to Elias, it was just a vast, empty canvas where his memories projected themselves in painful, vivid detail. He stood at the window, a silent figure against the glass, and the only words in his mind were the ones that had become his constant refrain: I'll be missing you...
It had been four months since Anya left. Not left-left. Not for another person. She had simply... stepped back into her own life. A life he’d been part of for five years, but a life that, in the end, had room for her ambitions in Lisbon and not for his anchoring roots here. It was amicable. It was mature. It was a clean break. It was a slow, perpetual hemorrhage.
He turned from the window, his gaze tracing the invisible map of her in the sterile, half-unpacked room. From the spot you woke... His eyes went to the left side of his new bed, still perfectly made. He could see the dent her head would have left on the pillow, the way the morning light would catch the copper in her hair. ...to the place you stood... He looked at the empty space by the kitchen island where she’d always stand, one hip cocked, drinking her too-strong coffee and dissecting her dreams from the night before.
I'll be missing you, I will. The thought was not a lament, but a flat, factual statement. A condition of his existence.
He had seen her last week. She was in town to finalize some things. They’d had coffee. She was vibrant, full of stories about her new job, her new city. You were back, but you have a life now... The past tense was a blade. She was back, physically. But the "her" that belonged to him, that shared a life with him, was gone, replaced by this brilliant, friendly stranger who smiled with familiar lips. I sit here all alone... The silence of the apartment pressed in, heavy and accusatory. He was waiting, he realized. A pathetic, hopeless waiting. ...waiting for your grace to be in my embrace... Waiting for the impossible: for time to reverse, for her to choose differently, for the universe to restore what it had so logically dismantled.
The emptiness was a physical pressure. He sank into his sofa, the sound of his own breathing too loud. I'm here thinking of you... every breath I take... It was true. She was the filter through which everything passed. A song on the radio, the smell of rain, the particular blue of the twilight sky—everything led back to her. Every second wasted... A harsh, grittier thought took hold. Were these seconds of mourning a waste? Or were they the only honest thing left? I'll be missing you... The prelude to the storm.
And then the storm would break. It would rise from his gut, a wave of pure, undiluted sensation that obliterated the quiet melancholy. He couldn’t sit still. He’d pace, the rhythm of his steps a frantic, internal drumbeat.
A pain I feel deep within my heart, I know! he would think, the words a searing confession to the empty room. It wasn't just in his mind; it was a visceral, cellular ache. I miss you so much, I feel down when you're not around! "Down" was an insufficient word. It was a gravitational pull toward a center of sadness, a weight that made the simplest actions Herculean.
He’d close his eyes and the fantasy would unfold, so vivid it felt like a memory. I wish you were here, deep within my arms! He could almost feel the solid, wonderful reality of her, the way she’d fit against him, her head tucking under his chin. Holding each other tight, nothing else matters tonight! In that imagined space, the job stress, the unpacked boxes, the future—all of it dissolved into irrelevance. The fantasy would crescendo, a desperate, soaring lie his heart told his brain: Because you're here with me!
The wave would recede, leaving him shaky in its wake. The mundane would rush back in. He’d find himself in the kitchen, making a solitary dinner, and the habits of care remained. He’d look at the other side of the counter and almost speak. Would you like some food? I will feed you now... He had loved that—cooking for her, the simple, primal act of providing. I love you so, with every command you say I will drop for you... It hadn't been about servitude, but about devotion. Her playful requests—"Get me a blanket," "Rub my feet," "Tell me that story again"—were not commands but invitations to show his love. Each and every time, toss me a command, I will respond...
He remembered the quiet intimacy, the late-night closeness. Kissing every inch... I love you so... The memory was a physical touch, a ghost sensation on his lips that made the present feel cold and barren.
And then, the pain would return, not as a wave, but as a more familiar, entrenched tide. It was the chorus of his new life. A pain I feel deep within my heart, I know! I miss you so much, I feel down when you're not around! The fantasy would replay, a worn-out filmstrip. I wish you were here, deep within my arms! Holding each other tight, nothing else matters tonight! Because you're here with me! This time, the fantasy felt thinner, more desperate, the lie harder to sustain.
In the deepest quiet, usually in the dead of night, a different sound would rise. Not the soaring, symphonic pain, but a raw, tribal, truthful beat. It was the sound of loving the specifics, the things that were just her.
I love the way you talk... he'd whisper to the darkness, remembering her rapid-fire sentences, the way she'd get tongue-tied when excited.
I love the way you fight...She never fought dirty. She fought passionately, for what she believed was right, even if it was just about which movie to watch.
I love the way you laugh at me, oh yeah...Her snort-laugh when he tried to dance. The way she'd find his clumsiness endearing.
I love the way you pout at me...The exaggerated, ridiculous lower lip when she didn't get her way, which always made him laugh and cave in.
I love the way you dance...The unselfconscious, joyous flailing in the living room.
I love the way you wiggle while you drop it low...A specific, silly memory from a wedding that made him smile even now, though the smile felt like a crack in stone.
The confession solidified,a truth he could finally speak in her absence. There's hardly anything that you do to me that I don't like... She was not a idealized saint. She was a real, messy, magnificent person, and he had loved the whole chaotic package. The admission led to a final, raw plea, directed at the memory, at the universe, at nothing. So honey, do it all to me... although I may scream I need help tonight... He was screaming now. A silent, internal scream for help out of this labyrinth of loss.
The emotional climax would hit him then, a cathartic, furious roar against the reality. He’d stand, fists clenched, and shout it at the walls, giving voice to the storm.
A PAIN I FEEL DEEP WITHIN MY HEART, I KNOW!
The shout echoed and died. The sudden silence it left was profound. The music of his grief cut out, leaving only the stark, simple truth.
(...I'll be missing you...) the echo sighed in his mind.
He was left with the bare bones of it: the heavy, rhythmic thud of his own heartbeat, the shallow sound of his breathing. The soaring strings and driving beats were gone. Only the haunting, lonely piano melody remained.
I'll be missing you... he breathed, the fight gone, replaced by a weary, endless acceptance.
He walked back to the window. The panoramic view stretched out, majestic and indifferent.
From the mountain tops...
His reflection in the glass was a ghost overlaid on the city lights. The vast geography of the world outside only underscored the small, furnished cage of his solitude. The final, fading vocal echo of his own sorrow was the only thing that felt real.
...missing you...