Sneakers on gravel, the weight of the day unravels as the familiar background circles and curtails. I could run from my monsters for miles. But instead I run with them, and they whisper in my ears. And I pay careful attention, because every fault they mention is the next step. The next step. Closer to better but better is just a point off in the distance, the path of most resistance like running through a thousand rubber bands. I’m tired of being the reason you cry yourself to sleep at night. I’m tired of exhausting all my passion on the explosion, rather than the slow- mellow – burn of two lovers sitting fireside. I’m tired of being an overturned table and a forked tongue, when all I wanted… all I wanted was to love and be loved. I hope that my self-loathing means I’m growing into some mettle I can stand. But for now– I run.