I see your face in front of mine, so close I can see directly into your bluish-gray eyes.
I don’t know what to do with this except try to punch you away from me. But no matter how hard I keep punching, your face keeps reappearing. It won’t go away. That face. I have no words to describe the look on your face only that it is inches from mine, and I know it shouldn’t be.
I don’t have a hiking analogy for this one. There is no part of hiking that invades your privacy as intensely as you did mine. It seems sacrilegious to even try to compare my Eden of hiking and mountains to the intrusiveness and perversion of your face.