"life doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to be lived"-Dexter
And as the fear creeps in deeper, running already sounds enticing. This soul was born to run, impulsive to the core, but the biggest fear is what happens when I can't run anymore. And if I'll ever find what I run for.
Am I scared to get hurt, or that I've found a place worth being still for? My heart continues beating, my mind is racing at a frenzied pace, but amazingly my hands are steady. Only here. And as I say this I can hear what its like when he smiles.
This world is a mess of contradictions and nonsensical bullshit, but I love every twisted note. I love that I hear his smiles, taste his apprehension, smell his doubt, feel his absence, and imagine a place where this is routine, mutual, a place where finally there is no reason nor temptation to run. ever again. Or at least for one more night.
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