Saturday, December 20, 2014

Blinking Cursor

There's so much going on in my head right now, but all I can do is stare at this blinking cursor.  I push it around the page with my fingers, but when I pause to take a breath or organize a thought, it just laughs in my face, mocking me.

I know all the words I want to flow from the keyboard; however, the organization isn't quite there.  Backspace, backspace — lost in time.

This morning, I hit a local trail for a milestone run.  No, the distance wasn't remarkable and the landscape wasn't earth shattering, rather, I ran the farthest since the NYC Marathon.  We endured for eight miles - 4 miles out; 4 miles back.  We painted ourselves into that corner.

With three or so miles to go, I pulled away from the group.  The faster pace felt great on my legs — the cold air bled through the fabric, kissing my skin with frosty lips.  I had enjoyed the company for the first five miles, but something more powerful drove me to head out in front.  I spent the rest of the run trying to stop myself from drowning in the pool of my past.

A long time ago, I got knocked down.  So much time needed to pass before I was able to crawl.  I picked myself up, more than once, and pressed on.  I worked hard to get up again; this time, walking away.  I didn't even glance over my shoulder, although I knew eyes were still on me.  It took more time to shake the burning eyes drilled into the back of my head.  My skin crawled as I ran; faster and harder.

There is no escape, only temporary solace.