she’s running, but she’s not exactly sure what she’s running from. the wind in her hair keeps her mind off of the way her heart is beating faster every second. she doesn’t know why she’s so scared and that fact, ironically, scares her.
maybe dreams are just realities stuck into the heads of people stuck at work until five the little whispers of futures and pasts, the disconnected strands that our mind ties together in a messy knot, hoping we can make sense of the whys and whos and whats and wonders