Street lights whizzed by, saying their hello’s and bye-bye’s like they always do.
On these streets, running, they had seen her one occasion too many.
Like the soles of her runners and the ground she run on, her runs identified with the impressions her worries made.
From her insecurities, she ran. From her life’s drama, she ran.
Tonight, ruffled by betrayal, she ran.
With every pace, she begged to sever her affective for she burned with dispair and anger.
With every raindrop that hit her already soused clothes, her overwhelming state of distress became even more self-realized.
Her composure, crumbling away. Her run routine, ineffective.
She was losing control, losing her cool. Still she ran.
The puddles in the streets splish-sploshed in ridicule at her attempt to outrun her affective.
As if, even they knew better.
Hello, bye-bye. …Hello, bye-bye.… Hello, bye-bye.… Hello, bye-bye..
Her breaths grew shorter, so did her pace.
Tears fell down her cheeks.
For the mask she had to wear instead of her face, she cried.
For the words she wasn’t confident enough say, she cried.
For her daydreams that never were, she cried.
Sobbing uncontrollably, her tears did the running.
From her eyes, over her cheeks, past her mouth, then dripping to the ground she stood on.
She run, no more.
I fitted my workout routine with boxing and sprints. My footwork and stamina, certainly getting there. Point blank, you wouldn’t wonna take a left straight or hook from me haha. Besides giving my buddy a black eye the last time we sparred it feels pretty darn great. I love the sweet science of punches, defense, breaking guards and the adrenaline. Yeah, I’m addicted already.
