To outrun this storm on foot is a fool's errand. So if I stop — if I choose to stay here and drench myself with its sorrows — press each bit against my chest, will they finally feel mine? Will they feel my aching for escape? Will they finally let me go?
Alas, maybe it's not a storm I'm running from, but something else.
Dec 24, 2020
Dec 24, 2020 at 2:18 AM UTC
To outrun this storm on foot is a fool's errand. So if I stop — if I choose to stay here and drench myself with its sorrows — press each bit against my chest, will they finally feel mine? Will they feel my aching for escape? Will they finally let me go?
Alas, maybe it's not a storm I'm running from, but something else.
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