I’ve been running from my demons, an existential crisis, continuously replaying inside my head, like the repetitive crashes of the waves over my floating body by beach where we first met. But I have been running for sometime and my legs no longer feel. The subtle realization that you are no longer moving forward in life. Subtle but surreal, as if I understand the inevitability of my death but politely decline the offer from the devil. So I try, despite knowing I can’t make a difference, but as I move my frail legs from the sinking quicksand of my inner thoughts, I realize it is no longer worth it. It doesn’t matter, all the roads lead the same way do they not?