running

 

Sometimes I still feel as if I’m running away.

 

Every pace I take steals my breath away. And I would halt. Body bent over, a stitch on my side, my lungs taking huge gulps of air.

 

That’s the moment.

The moment when I’m tempted to turn around. And look back. The moment when I feel I would be willing to give my all, just to have a second of it.

The most vulnerable moment of my life.

 

I’m already this far. But I can still see them small dots. Washed away only when it rains, but as clear under the daylight. Tiny dots. That used to paint my life.

 

And even from here, the view is still the same. There’s no difference. Not much than when they appeared closer.

 

I want to cry. I want to scream.  I want to stomp my feet and throw tantrums. I want to  make a mess of everything. I want to ruin every single thing I could get my hands on.

 

And yet, as I stand here, I still find myself watching. In silence. My fingers tracing the picture from afar.

 

It’s still pretty. The picture.

 

But I know, I will still turn my heart away.

 

Turn. And run.

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