Oh, what I would give to run again.
I wonder, had I realized then
(Then, as a younger person)
That I would one day not be able to run…
Would I have done it differently?
Would I have gone quicker, longer, farther, harder, freer?
Do you go quicker, longer, farther, harder, freer?
Because I go slowly. I ache as I walk. If I were to run, I would cry as I ran. Can you run for me? Can you satisfy this burning dullness in the pit of my inner athlete by running for me?
I can’t run. Sometimes it feels like I can’t live. Sometimes I need to write this down in the middle of the night because all I want to do is run. Sometimes all I want is for someone to figure out the truth of why I can’t run and to fix me. Cure me. Save me.
Someone. Do it. I can’t run until you do. Can you take extra footsteps for me? Extra footfalls, heavy breaths, aching ribs, rippling muscles, sweaty palms, frizzy hair. Make up for my lack.
I’ll watch you run. I’ll sit here in a chair and track you with my eyes as you run by me, around me in circles, on top of me, because I can’t run for myself and I’m nothing to you. Nothing. Just a nothing who can’t run.
Make me run.
Run until you feel your lungs bleeding. -Run, Hozier