The week after success, is like a rambler achieving the submit of a mountain only to find they have further to go. The rise in the distance looks like the long-sought trig-point, the next achievement, but getting closer it morphs into part of the blank endless plateau she walks along.
Reaching the top had been the only aim for so long. She’d enjoyed the journey, the single, rough, upward path meant there had been plenty of people to talk to.
But now exposed, on the plateau, her friends have wandered back to their own lives and she is without purpose.