We line up in two parallel columns, me at the front of the first column and you beside me on the other.
You flash me a challenging grin. I smile back, accepting your offer.

The coach blows the whistle and we start to sprint across the hall towards the line of hurdles.
We match each other's pace, leaping across the hurdles of increasing height in perfect synchronization.

We reach the final and tallest hurdle.
You briefly turn your head towards me and mouth something.
I can't hear what you're saying - you're too soft. Or maybe my heart is too loud.

I shift my focus back to the last hurdle and heave my springy legs up, confident I can at least break even in this match.
But even before my right ankle was on the same level as the hurdle, my line of sight plunges, and I crash head-on into the embarrassing mess of defeat.

I tilt my head up in time to catch you flawlessly hop across what's become of my failure, your posture lacking any hint of looking back at me.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
*Till now, you haven't looked back.
And I still can't get over that last hurdle,
the same way I haven't gotten over you.