Internal Conflict on a Mountaintop

I reminded myself today what I live for.

I live for myself, and also for You. "You" are the silhouette of an oak tree in the distance in front of a cloudless sunset. You are the moon waning and waxing and waning once more, rising sometimes at midnight and others at midday. You are the frightful exhilaration one feels when standing at dangerously high altitudes, save of oxygen, and somehow not even caring in the presence of beauty of the snowcapped mountains in all directions. They stand so real and surreal that the familiar, yet hugely exemplified reaction on my tongue nearly implodes my taste buds although my mouth hangs open and empty.

Where did "You" go? Did I lose You in the fight to focus only on the colors behind the dark, yet breathtaking oak? Did I hide from the beauty in the wane of the moon while embracing the wax, or from the abnormality of it's rare rising in the midday while hoping for the world to mysteriously change, and stop changing?

If I stood on those mountains now, would I struggle desperately for air and in my moments of near-death weakness, fail to realize I have consequently seen heaven?