Running, Running

One day, I went for a walk. It was a calm day. Sunny, warm, cool breeze combing through the leaves.

The farther I walked, the more restless I became. Sure, the day was beautiful–greens and yellows and blue, blue sky. The birds and the squirrels running around. The sound of rustling leaves and birdsong.

I picked a point on the horizon and quickened my step. That quickening turned to running, turned to chasing. Chasing that point on the horizon. That glimmering point.

The farther I ran, the more exhilarated I felt. My heart leapt in my chest. My lungs beat to the rhythm of my breath. I cut through the air with my arms and my legs, and I ran.

The farther I ran, the lonelier I felt. Originally, I’d started running because I needed a purpose. But then, I kept running. I forgot my purpose. And I was alone. There was no counterpoint to my rhythm. No pulse to my beat. But I kept running.

The farther I ran, the more futile everything seemed. The colors turned brighter, into neon greens and neon yellows and electric blue, blue sky.  The birds and the wind were quiet. All I could hear were my two feet pounding the ground and my heart pounding my chest, and my breath in, in, in, out, out, out.

Why was I running? I couldn’t remember. I just had to get to the point on the horizon.

But the more I ran, the more I couldn’t see the point. The more I ran, the farther away it seemed to get. But I kept running.

The bright colors were changing now. The greens and yellows and blues became reds and purples and indigoes. The birds and the squirrels returned to their homes. The sound of crickets and empty noise.

The glimmering point on the horizon became a glimmering point in the dark blue sky.

I stopped running.

Very alone.

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