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Run
I wake up with the word already half-formed on my lips.
Run.
The darkness is blurred, my room permeated with nothing more than an array of indistinguishable shapes. The eyelashes titillate the cheek, and I breathe, hearkening to the beat of my panic-stricken heart, letting the enchant of my eyelids haul down. A consequence of weightlessness — I’m buoyant. I hasten down the hill, the field becoming a hazy landscape of green. A thump mixed with excitement in a chamber pot.
We breathe. We blink lazily up to the sky, as the spiderweb clouds and the vast blueness dance. I wish. There’s no answer, no second thought. The words simply fade into the air. Incomplete. Happiness conceals in the bumps of clothing, the curve of the smile. Turning for a minute second, glancing, but his eyes are closed.
Stuck in the location for hours; thinking, feeling. Run. Made of nothing but adrenaline. Energy courses through the veins. A look toward returning, sensing a cheek lift. I will not be beat. It feels like flying.
I’m breathless. Unhappiness seems to melt into his features, but only for a split second. A whistle blows, the crowd cheers. People stream behind me, and I lose him. I don’t know where I’m going until I’m already there, banging at the door, screaming. He once told me hated tears, hated the way they made him feel. I never understood what he…
