Why do we run from happiness?
Or are we running from the destruction? Are we running from the remnants of ourselves left behind when that happiness is taken.
The dropping of the second shoe sounding like war drums in our ears. The constant banging as our hearts beat themselves, bruising out of our chests. The steady rhythm of pain flooding through our veins. The thought creating an echo of the sensation in itself.
There is nothing crueler than being picked up, only to be dropped again.
So we turn.
We leave.
We run.
Because we know that it's harder to fall when you're already on the ground. So we lay ourselves down and gaze fondly at the sky.
And we let ourselves believe that we could have what's up there, that it's not too far. That if we just stood up and grabbed it, then it would be ours.
We run.
And we lie.
And we look.
And we sleep.
