Saturday, August 27, 2011
Turning from everything he knew, he ran. shrinking from touch, from talking. why talk to anyone? he saw the faces he saw every day. familiar. smiling. names. personalities. he felt disconnected. he thought seriously about how he answered the casual "how are you?" Fine. was he fine? did he want others to know? could he trust them? give his mind and heart like he did before? no. look what happened. running. running is always good. blurs. eyes closed. wind. breathing hard. he wasn't running away from them. just her. the memory. lingering like her perfume after a long kiss. Then stronger. The memory of empty eyes. The memory of broken, pale, cold. No. Run. Let the air brush it out. Broken. Dead. No! His legs running from something he couldn't see. Something chasing him. Right on top of him. Collapsing. Sprinklers buzzing, birds chatting, the cars bloated and disfigured colors in the tears. Gone. No! "how are you?" she's attached to the question. "how are you?" I'm fine! but is this fine? asks the voice. This isn't fine. Look at you. head hung. legs give out. grass poking. poking like a question. what to do? for now? for now the ground is sharp. the sun is piercing. the pavement rocky. for now he would run. That's what he knew to do. numb. alone. that's running. as soon as the pain stops, so would he. but for now? run.