Everybody’s on the run.

All day. Every day.

Some run towards something. Some run away from something.

And her?

Well, her story is a little complicated.

She didn’t know when it started. Didn’t know how, or where, but she found herself right in the middle of it. No tuning back. No do-overs. Just as they say, it’s do or die. But who are they? What qualifies them to be give such radical ultimatums? Maybe you can stall it. Maybe you can avoid it just for a little while. Maybe, just maybe, if you don’t talk about it or acknowledge its presence, it’ll go away. But it didn’t. It just got heavier. It was eating away at her as it got more and more heavy for her to carry.

All alone. As I’m walking these streets. I’m not even sure where I am anymore. The streets are intertwined. I’d like to ask for help, but I don’t know how. The people around me… they speak this language that I don’t understand. I’m trying to reach out, but they can’t hear me. And so I walk. Sometimes faster, sometimes I just drag my legs, hoping I’ll make it past the corner.

At times, it looks like some of the people I meet along the way see me, it seems like they’re looking at me, but they never do so long enough so they can see my cry for help. Or maybe it’s just my imagination. At first, I was scared. I was upset and angry and I kept on waving and screaming my lungs out. But after a while, I stopped being upset or angry. Now, the fear… that was deeply instilled into my being. But soon enough, the fear became my friend. The fear was familiar, it belonged and it gave me a sense of belonging. It was the only constant in my life. And I was  ok with it.

Until I wasn’t. It may have been the warmth of this late autumn, it may have been the memory of that november day when I found love which got me thinking…  I’ve seen beautiful things during my journey. I’ve walked past happy, courageous, fulfilled people. I’ve walked past love, and smiles, hugs and handholdings, past carpe diems, past sadness and anger and joy and despair.  And then it hit me. Like the soft thunders in those warm, rainy summer nights, it creeped into my soul.

The people, they can see me. They can hear me too. I just have to want it. I have been holding onto the wrong feeling all along. I should have been angry. And upset. I should have kept on waving and I should have kept on screaming louder and louder.

Her story? It doesn’t end here. It doesn’t begin here either. It just goes on. Towards something. Away from something. She is sometimes seen here… and there. At times bursting with joy and other times crippled with pain.

Seen… She is seen.


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