Possibilities.
I no longer care about the number of laps I've had or the calories I've burned. I am now more concerned with catching my heaving breath after a nice afternoon run. I am not as strong as I was before, and running's not even my thing anymore. All I knew was I wanted to run.
Away.
From an inevitable story I never knew I was still a part of.
It should have been over a long time ago, but I keep finding myself still running, forward and back, on the pages which should have already been turned.
This day last year, we came to see the row of sunflowers along a very busy street. Earlier this day, I saw a sunflower, and suddenly I was again running backwards to that page. But I have already come so far....
My brooding walk came to a halt when I passed by this stranger.
He sat on the pavement, along the perimeter of a scrap metal and wood dump. He seemed concentrated on the script he was holding and practicing. This scene must not come as a surprise to me; this place is a cultural center. But this was my first time to encounter such. I watched him closely, despite the distance. He seemed to have focused all concentration into his script, despite being in a place full of entropy. I walked around again so as not to come off as a creep. He was still there.
As I walked home, that stranger was still the thought on my mind. He sounded good, why didn't I approach him to tell him that he was? Or ask him if he were to audition for a play? Who knows, we might have been good friends.
A thought clawed at the corner of my brain: you did it! You are again at the last page. Suddenly, there was a new plot just waiting to happen. It wasn't about the past, it wasn't entirely about me. It was about possibilities. All thanks to that interesting stranger.
I might as well practice my new script as well.