Dead End

Running, always running.

For years, all I've done is run.

Every second of every day spent watching over my shoulder, keeping distance between us.

Not a moments rest found me for most of my life, not a night passed that I didn't wake to keep running again.

Running from what? . . . I don't know.

I've never seen it, never heard it, never felt it.

It's instinct, maybe fight or flight? So I run. But I know its always behind me, always following.

. . . Until today.

I stopped running. . .

What now?

I sit down.

I take a deep breath.

I close my eyes.

It feels wrong. All I've ever done is run. . .

But whats the point of running if theres nothing to chase you?