I have this recurring dream where I’m running.
Running and running.
Full speed,
sprinting towards everything
and nothing at all.
And I don’t know
what I’m running from,
or running to.
I don’t know where I am,
There’s no history of what I’ve done.
In this place I know nothing,
and I am nothing.
I just know that I have to keep running.
Because there’s a pounding in my chest,
and my feet are aching to keep moving
and there is this subtle
but paralyzing fear
that if I stop running,
only for a moment,
if I stop running,
if I can place where I am
if I can remember who I am,
if I stop for one single moment,
I know that I will die.
So I run.
In some versions,
tears stream down my face
blurring into the lights and sounds.
In other versions,
I am laughing with intoxicating bliss,
like some animal that has been kept
locked away,
only to discover that there is an entire world
outside the iron walls of everything
I knew before.
Sometimes,
I keep looking behind me,
like I’m waiting for something to catch up to me.
Sometimes I look nowhere but ahead,
to the horizon,
the rising moon,
never-ending ground.
Sometimes there is pavement,
and street lights melting together,
as if the lens of my consciousness has been left open,
sometimes I can’t see at all,
I only hear my own breath,
the rhythmic pounding of my soul hitting the pavement.
But always,
I am running.