Drifting

Although I am sure it is not so, to me the world is silent. All I can hear is my breathing; in, out, in, out, and my shoes hitting the trail one after another, again and again and again. I try to control my breathing; in through my nose, out through my mouth, just the way everyone says a good runner should, even though I always end up gasping for air like I've been underwater for three days.
It's a rhythm, a song of my own. A good runner shouldn't be heard coming. Their feet should be so quick, so light that there is no sound as they hit the ground. I practice these things as I run. I think about my posture, my lungs, my shoes, the ground...
Everything essential and important is past me and I am free from everything, because out here there is nothing. Nothing except for sky and road and flowers, all things beautiful that no one ever notices, and if anyone ever did they would say "nothing is here" and move on.
I think beauty is something. But beauty, natural beauty that is untouched and unruly, doesn't entangle like the everythings of this world does. I leave all of my everythings behind when I run. My dispositions, my books, my religion and people and habits. My schoolwork and politics and the news that is always so sad... my everythings are, for the moment, gone.
I leave it on my front doorstep and pick it back up when I am ready to come around for it. But I'm drifting in and out of thoughtless energy, yellows from the petals and blues from the sky and cotton-clouds all surround me and swirl me in and out of reality. But I never leave what is true, just what is real and I think there is a distinct difference. Truth is found in beauty, but beauty isn't real... you can't hold it or pluck it or pinch it. It is true to those who find it but it is not there and the same for everyone else to see that exact same way. Because perception is only real for the eyes that have perceived it, and who knows if one pairs sees anything the same way as another. That's what makes something that someone finds beautiful so special to them.
So, the beauty that surrounds me as I run takes me and I am free from all of my everythings. But I always go back. The people and places and things in my life that sometimes feel more like bondages are my everythings. They are my essentials. I would choose between free thoughtless drifting and a more contained life with my loved ones the latter, because I think those beautiful flowers do not mean much when there is no one you can share it with, or no one that they remind you of.

Down for the Count

Colors and shapes collect me and let me go and I cannot grasp myself or this place. I want to shout but nothing comes out, and I do not know where my mouth is or who I am or what I want. It is something like wanting to run but you are scared frozen, so you become stuck there and then you forget to move again.
I know something is wrong, something is different but I can't remember this place or any other.

Comatose
Black. I can almost feel the fear in me, but it is too dark to even be sure of my emotions. Nothing is rising to the surface. I feel it coming again and I want to fight it but I can't and I have to go, slide away, again. Gone...

Stirring

Everyone else's nerves are so great for me that I don't think I could bear the weight of theirs and mine. So I am calm, because this is what I want. This is what I can do because this is who I am and I don't care about anything else. If not now, when? I can't live any other way. And I hate the thought that this could break their hearts, that this could take away their life without them ever dying, but I can't sacrifice a second chance to waste it by not living.
The bullet echoes in our ears as we fly past, thousands of pairs of Asics and Nikes flying past the sidelines filled with clapping and yelling and signs that say "Run Mike Run!" and etc. I couldn't find my family as I ran past, with hundreds of others surrounding me and focusing on the race and not being trampled and all. But I know they are there, probably frantically searching for me so they can get a good picture for the Christmas card this year. They love me so much.
The next twenty-six miles will be... Stop. Don't think about twenty-six. Think about the next step. One step at a time. Breathe. In, out, in, out. This is peaceful. This is my happiness and I can't stop living.
My feet hit the ground again and again and again, endlessly but not habitually. It is more rhythmic, like I am dancing to the longest song ever. And it really is enjoyable. Painful, but I am doing this for me. This is my big dance and each step is a twirl and skip and dip and.
Hot. Suddenly flames draw me down.
My knees burn as they skid across the hot July pavement, people running from behind dodging on all sides of me. Slowly the images are fading and the fire is rising higher and hotter. I realize as they take me away and then throw me back into the race that I can't breathe- I need air. My brain is getting smaller and I feel myself going away. Panic and fire are swelling inside and around me and all I can think of is my family when I remember and then I know its okay. I don't want to stop fighting but I know I'm going to win, so I'll let go and shut these eyes. I'll trust this battle of black and white and the silence in my head and I will have faith. Flashes of white and black are spinning me and suddenly, loudly and brightly it is all gone. I am all gone.


Awake

Up. Stirring. Conscious. Aware. Alert.
I am wide awake.
A warm light, reaching out with its yellow touch comes and rocks me in its arms, slowly cradling me with comfort and then gloriously we fly- up but not to the sky. I don't know how but I know exactly where and as I get closer the trumpets of my heart beat faster and faster and my smile widens, reaching further to the corners of my face than ever before. Tears stream down my face as joy that I have never experienced becomes greater and greater. And then-
I am Home. And I am, for the first time, awake.