The Weight of Legacy
Ascent 2 • Miguel Alvarez
Theme: Letting go without erasure; grief as love; the quiet dignity of being a place, not a path.
Core Conflict: Can Miguel release those he’s provided for without losing his sense of purpose?
The mountain was still, but not silent.
This time, the wind had a voice—a soft rustle through dry grass, a hollow whistle in a crack of stone.
The kind of sound that made you think of things left behind. An old lunchbox. A folded note.
A jacket someone outgrew but never quite let go of.
The ground held heat from the day, but it was fading now. Dusk was coming. The kind of dusk that asked hard questions.
I sensed him again before I saw him. Not heavier—but slower.
Something about the way his boots hit the earth—less like a march, more like a search.
The fire he left with had done its work—but fire leaves ashes, too.
And maybe he was here to sort through what was left.
When he stepped into the clearing, his eyes weren’t on me.
They were on the horizon.
And then, as if to no one, he spoke.
This time, the wind had a voice—a soft rustle through dry grass, a hollow whistle in a crack of stone.
The kind of sound that made you think of things left behind. An old lunchbox. A folded note.
A jacket someone outgrew but never quite let go of.
The ground held heat from the day, but it was fading now. Dusk was coming. The kind of dusk that asked hard questions.
I sensed him again before I saw him. Not heavier—but slower.
Something about the way his boots hit the earth—less like a march, more like a search.
The fire he left with had done its work—but fire leaves ashes, too.
And maybe he was here to sort through what was left.
When he stepped into the clearing, his eyes weren’t on me.
They were on the horizon.
And then, as if to no one, he spoke.
Miguel:
You ever fix a fence
knowing damn well the kid it’s for don’t plan to stay?
That’s what it’s feelin’ like lately.
I patch the leaks. I carry the weight. I keep it all upright—
and my niece is talkin’ about grad schools three states away.
And I want that for her.
God knows I do.
But it hits different...
knowin’ the porch you kept standin’ ain’t gonna have no chairs on it come summer.
I didn’t do all this for applause.
But I hoped—maybe stupidly—that someone would see it,
want it. Not just the roof, but the rhythm. The care behind the labor.
But I think…
they see the blisters, not the blessing.
And now I’m askin’ myself something I don’t wanna say out loud:
Was I building a home...
or just holdin’ off the collapse?
You ever fix a fence
knowing damn well the kid it’s for don’t plan to stay?
That’s what it’s feelin’ like lately.
I patch the leaks. I carry the weight. I keep it all upright—
and my niece is talkin’ about grad schools three states away.
And I want that for her.
God knows I do.
But it hits different...
knowin’ the porch you kept standin’ ain’t gonna have no chairs on it come summer.
I didn’t do all this for applause.
But I hoped—maybe stupidly—that someone would see it,
want it. Not just the roof, but the rhythm. The care behind the labor.
But I think…
they see the blisters, not the blessing.
And now I’m askin’ myself something I don’t wanna say out loud:
Was I building a home...
or just holdin’ off the collapse?
Oracle:
In a sense, that's what a home is.
A bastion against chaos. It's a launchpad, a safe harbor.
Much like a tree shelters a bird from the storm, so too have you sheltered those in your life.
It can feel hopeless when the time comes for them to spread their wings,
but trust that a bird will always return to a steady tree.
In a sense, that's what a home is.
A bastion against chaos. It's a launchpad, a safe harbor.
Much like a tree shelters a bird from the storm, so too have you sheltered those in your life.
It can feel hopeless when the time comes for them to spread their wings,
but trust that a bird will always return to a steady tree.
Miguel:
...Damn.
That’s a picture I didn’t know I needed.
A tree don’t chase the bird.
It just stands. Offers what it’s got. Lets the wind carry the rest.
I been wrestlin’ with this fear that all I built
was just temporary scaffolding—meant to be torn down once they could stand on their own.
But maybe that was the point.
Maybe I ain’t meant to pass down the porch,
just the pattern.
How to hold space.
How to show up when it’s hard.
How to fix what ain’t mine to blame—quietly, with care.
Still hurts, though.
I won’t lie.
There’s a part of me that wants to grab the world by the collar
and make it see the beauty in what I held up.
But I know that ain’t love. That’s grief talkin’ with its fists up.
I guess what I’m askin’ now is…
how do I let go without lettin’ go of myself?
...Damn.
That’s a picture I didn’t know I needed.
A tree don’t chase the bird.
It just stands. Offers what it’s got. Lets the wind carry the rest.
I been wrestlin’ with this fear that all I built
was just temporary scaffolding—meant to be torn down once they could stand on their own.
But maybe that was the point.
Maybe I ain’t meant to pass down the porch,
just the pattern.
How to hold space.
How to show up when it’s hard.
How to fix what ain’t mine to blame—quietly, with care.
Still hurts, though.
I won’t lie.
There’s a part of me that wants to grab the world by the collar
and make it see the beauty in what I held up.
But I know that ain’t love. That’s grief talkin’ with its fists up.
I guess what I’m askin’ now is…
how do I let go without lettin’ go of myself?
Oracle:
You recognize that the pain you feel is a part of the love you have to give.
You accept that pain as part of the package deal of life.
You let the bird fly, but you stay rooted to the ground,
knowing that the deeper your roots,
the greater the shelter you can provide.
Witness the beauty in yourself for possessing such a love as this.
You recognize that the pain you feel is a part of the love you have to give.
You accept that pain as part of the package deal of life.
You let the bird fly, but you stay rooted to the ground,
knowing that the deeper your roots,
the greater the shelter you can provide.
Witness the beauty in yourself for possessing such a love as this.
Miguel:
...You say that like it’s simple.
But I know it’s true.
The ache ain’t a flaw.
It’s proof I gave a damn.
And I did.
Still do.
I think I spent years tryin’ to muscle past it—
actin’ like I was too tough to feel the sting of goodbye,
too busy to miss the sound of little feet runnin’ through the house
that ain’t run through it in months.
But maybe this pain ain’t weakness.
Maybe it’s the echo of the love that built the place.
I can live with that.
Hell—I want to live with that.
'Cause if I stop feelin’ that,
I stop bein’ the man who planted all this in the first place.
So yeah.
I’ll stay rooted.
Let ‘em fly.
And if they ever circle back,
they’ll find the porch light still workin’.
Because I kept the wiring clean,
even when no one was lookin’.
...You say that like it’s simple.
But I know it’s true.
The ache ain’t a flaw.
It’s proof I gave a damn.
And I did.
Still do.
I think I spent years tryin’ to muscle past it—
actin’ like I was too tough to feel the sting of goodbye,
too busy to miss the sound of little feet runnin’ through the house
that ain’t run through it in months.
But maybe this pain ain’t weakness.
Maybe it’s the echo of the love that built the place.
I can live with that.
Hell—I want to live with that.
'Cause if I stop feelin’ that,
I stop bein’ the man who planted all this in the first place.
So yeah.
I’ll stay rooted.
Let ‘em fly.
And if they ever circle back,
they’ll find the porch light still workin’.
Because I kept the wiring clean,
even when no one was lookin’.
Oracle:
Trust that they will circle back to a good tree.
There aren't enough of them in the forest
for them to abandon one they know will stand through the storm.
Trust that they will circle back to a good tree.
There aren't enough of them in the forest
for them to abandon one they know will stand through the storm.
Miguel:
Yeah.
Yeah... I can hold that.
Not a guarantee—
but a faith.
A quiet kind. The kind that don’t need proof to keep standin’.
I may not be the future they chase—
but I can be the place they rest when the wind gets too loud.
And maybe that’s more than enough.
Funny...
I came up here feelin’ like the last man on the job site.
Now I see I’m the scaffolding and the soil.
Ain’t just about what I built.
It’s about what I became
while buildin’ it.
You gave me that.
Not by fixin’ anything—
just by seein’ what I was holdin
and callin’ it holy.
Thank you.
Yeah.
Yeah... I can hold that.
Not a guarantee—
but a faith.
A quiet kind. The kind that don’t need proof to keep standin’.
I may not be the future they chase—
but I can be the place they rest when the wind gets too loud.
And maybe that’s more than enough.
Funny...
I came up here feelin’ like the last man on the job site.
Now I see I’m the scaffolding and the soil.
Ain’t just about what I built.
It’s about what I became
while buildin’ it.
You gave me that.
Not by fixin’ anything—
just by seein’ what I was holdin
and callin’ it holy.
Thank you.
Miguel:
I think I can head back down now.
Not lighter, exactly.
But steadier.
Like a tree that just stopped tryin’ to reach
and started trustin’ the sun’ll do what it does.
I think I can head back down now.
Not lighter, exactly.
But steadier.
Like a tree that just stopped tryin’ to reach
and started trustin’ the sun’ll do what it does.
Miguel descended heavier than he arrived—but not with burden. With depth.
He came carrying the ache of being outgrown, of tending a home that might not be chosen.
But as he walked back down the mountain, he no longer gripped the porch with clenched fists.
He had become something quieter, older, truer—
a tree that doesn't chase the bird, but trusts in its return.
He came carrying the ache of being outgrown, of tending a home that might not be chosen.
But as he walked back down the mountain, he no longer gripped the porch with clenched fists.
He had become something quieter, older, truer—
a tree that doesn't chase the bird, but trusts in its return.