I’m a runner.
Yeah, I do track, but that’s not what I mean. I mean: I run away from things and I run towards things. I run away from people who actually care about me. I run away from commitment. I run away from who I really am, and towards who people want me to be. I run away from everything that gets even just the slightest bit serious. I run into drama (although, never on purpose).Sometimes, I run with the wrong crowd, but I’m trying to speed up and break out of the pack. I run after dreams I will probably never catch, and I run away from nightmares I hope will never catch me. If you have ever run, you know how tired you can get. So sometimes, I let myself sit. I sit in the moment. I sit and think about running- how far I’ve gone and how far I’m going to go. As soon as my heart becomes comfortable and starts to beat at a normal pace, I get scared. Again, I start to run. It’s a cycle, a useless one, but yet I follow it without fail anyway. I guess you could say I’m trying to run away from running. That’s just who I am, a runner. That’s probably who I’ll be for the rest of my life. Maybe someday, I’ll be done running; my soul will have had enough. Maybe, I will fall into step with someone else that is done running and we’ll stroll through the rest of this funny thing called life together. Or maybe, I’ll fall into step with someone who is on a break from running, just like the ones I used to take. When they’re ready, they’ll start running again. My tired legs will already know they cannot keep up, so I’ll stay in the spot I am at. I’ll watch them fade away like all the people who watched me dissipate into nothingness.