Your turn to run.

I don’t want to be just another moment in your history. Just another book on the shelf of your infinite library. The song on your iTunes playlist that you loved hard for three weeks straight and now just skip through to the next.

I don’t want to be the water that cuts so easily under your oars as you paddle away.

Because you made me believe less in me and you and more in us and we and now I can’t go back. I shed the impermeable layer that initially kept me from letting you in and now I can’t stop absorbing you. All that energy I didn’t put into us I’m now taking in, radioactive with remorse. And at times I feel as though I might burst with all these emotions I worked so circumspectly to train to roll right off, not in.

You brought truth to me in a way I was not ready to reciprocate. Part of me always thought there would be a runner in this story, but I had no idea your gym shoes would be so effortlessly laced by the time I realized it wasn't me.

By the time I realized this wasn't what I wanted, you had already cut a path through the trees and I could barely make out your dizzying shadow.

You gave me no choice in loving you and now you leave me nothing but to trace and retrace the the outline of your footsteps in the soil, still warm with the heat of you.