what happens on the mountain stays on the mountain.
you can't remember it in words and write it in your livejournal after you get home.
It's very picturesque to imagine that I climb a mountain deep in the night and have conversations with the darkness there,
but really it's just an unlit, tree-thick hill-top at the summit of a suburbanized promontory.

I do remember looking into the night above me and asking "am I really so alone?"

I remember asking "where is Phil Elverum now?" and "am I the ghost of an old wife?"

my boyfriend told me that I remind him of the log lady from Twin Peaks.

You built your fortress higher than clouds can climb on a foundation of solid stone, peaked with turrets carved from the long gradual wear of deliberate winds. After years of meticulous preparations your wind-worn palace is still not good enough for you and construction will never cease so long as you reside there. 
But it's your own heart that's flawed - not your castle. Once you stop building you will have to start living and the thought of living in that empty palace alone terrifies you, so you keep on working. You tear down a wing, you build up another in it's place. There's no end to your self deconstruction and it's tragic, baby. It pains me just to watch it - - I'll never be able to live there with you. - -  just one night in your cold room is almost too much to bear. Your looming walls want to hold me there in hopelessness. Even the warmth of my eternal furnace can't thaw the frostbite around your heart, and I won't keep burning for you if you insist on freezing to death.