“Maddie, I wish I could run like you.”
She said it in January.
In her second-to-last low
When she was searching for
A reason. A purpose.
A breath of fresh air.
All the things,
Running
From the outside-looking-in
Seemed to always be,
For me.
But I didn’t tell her
That some days
I cut my run short
I didn’t tell her
That some days
I’m miserable.
Cold. Wet. Tired.
Hungry. Unsettled.
That some days
I don’t want to be out there.
That some days are spent
Bargaining with my mind,
Convincing myself
To get onto the trail
And once I’m there,
Only to find myself,
Wondering why
I’m even out there
at all.
“Maddie, I wish I could run like you.”
Rachel, I wish that
when you said those words,
that instead of staying quiet,
I brought you with me.
Because I have a feeling,
That even on the most miserable days
You, and me, we’d have been
exactly what the other needed.
