- Writing - vignettes
- Previous - 08. Morning by the pool
There’s a line that I want to get to, but I don’t think that’s how this works. To rush to the finish line, to mistake the breakable ribbon for the journey, oh god how shit is this.
A few different reasons for running down the hill.
Safety, alone again, to not feel the pull of the presence of others.
Freedom, to strike out alone, dust in my wake as I zigzag away.
Desire, tension in my body, an animal urge to do something rough.
Careening downwards, the dirt skidding out from under me. Brutal sun, dust in the air, legs alive and firing after weeks of consignment.
Going too far, maybe. Too fast, too risky. Too deep down the path, I don’t know the way, maybe I’m lost, maybe I’m so lost that they won’t be able to find me.
And then you came round the corner, running even faster than me.
“Am I going the wrong way?”. “I don’t know”. And then we ran together.
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