Micro Stories

run free

i remember running, running, running, until the only sound that existed was the threading of my breath.
and the heavy thundering of the naked heels of my feet hitting moist earth.

i didn’t remember you.
you looked familiar all the same.

i got lost in you until i found myself sitting in silence, recognizing my own reflection for the first time since…
they never let me see, before
these hues didn’t exist before you.

everything has become awake and alive and dangerous
dangerous, they warned, that’s what running would be
who knew what was out there? in the dark, alone, no guideposts, no railing. no one to hold my hand and remind me my place in this vast, vast world of voices and muted eyes and bound hands

was it wrong?
to learn to speak, to want to feel the grass beneath my fingers, smell the earth where nothingness meets a waterfall, that buzzing, peaceful, oneness.
am i wrong?
to want my hand in yours, even as they look away and condemn.

i used to cry at night, when no one looked, no one to hear.
now i bury myself in you, and suddenly the lashings they offer bear no sting, leave no trace. they can’t touch me. us.
when i cry now, you’re there, warmth to chase away the cold damp chains that threaten to pull me back to them. for they are always pulling, a screeching void, tentacles slithering in to take me in the night.
when you cry, i squeeze so tightly round you i fear i’ll break your skin but you only pull me closer.

maybe that’s all i need to know.
perhaps all their lamenting and screaming and cavorting about isn’t about me at all.
possibly, they’ve never run into their own soul before

Speak and be heard...

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