This year

If only I could run without knowing. Without feeling. Mostly without knowing. To be oblivious to the pain, the self consciousness, the shortness of breath. To focus only on the rhythmic slap slap slap of my feet pounding on the sidewalk. I want to run to forget, really, to run away - to run away from the pounds and the problems. It is fear of the unknown and anxiety to reach said unknown. Run toward it, run away from it. It would be an achievement to run at all. My body, my mind, my soul, they are too broken.
Slap slap slap slap. Nothing else.

My lips twitch. I wet them with the tip of my tongue. When they became chapped, I don’t know. Something stirs within me. I don’t know what it is or where it came from. Sort of like the chapped lips, I guess.

I want to run and I want to write. This will be the year of running and writing. That’s all I want from life right now. I want to go. I want to move. I want so much. I want to run toward it and I want to hide from it and I want to write about all of it. But things just don’t seem to flow ever. This will be the year of practice. Practice my endurance. The endurance of my legs and of my mind.