Some people run for charity.
Some people run for clarity.
Some people run for the air in their lungs and the spring in their limbs.
Me, I run because of him.
I run hard and fast in the opposite direction
Telling myself, this is all for his protection and benefit,
Because instinct tells me to spin one-eighty on my heel
And head directly for the one person who made me feel real.
Feel like me.
Yet that way leads to madness,
Truth telling, and ultimately, sadness.
See, hurting those you love should never be an option or feel right.
Which is why you keep running, keep hidden, keep low, and out of sight.
And when you pause, chest pounding, goosebumps gathering on your skin,
Breath catching, giving in to the notion to neglect the mess you are in,
It makes up for the fact that you’re watching from the sidelines,
As they live their lives fully while you’re just here, killing time.
And in those few moments when they really see you,
You hold your breath, force down the fear that maybe they see through
Your self-destructive, gut-punching deceit.
But they don’t, or choose not to. And you know they never will.
And for them, you tell yourself, it’s worth this bitter pill.
So for you, it’s back to pavements, paths and roads to pound,
Your footfall is heavy, hard, drowning out all sound.
Some people run for pleasure,
Some people run for pain.
Some people run with the hope of finding themselves again.
Me, I run so I don’t become his bane.


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