Running From Her Shadow

…but it was her shadow. She was standing just around the corner. She didn’t know that I had stopped running. I have even had time to catch my breath.

It’s funny because 20 years ago, I ran too this woman. I ran after this woman. I caught up to her just before she got on the bus. She was wearing nice clothes, her hair was done up, she was all class. And yet the contrast was unbelievable against the lackluster bus. I almost couldn’t take it. I ran up to her and grabbed her hand. As she fell from the bus, into my arms, a smile came across her face.

Now she is death to me. I could get away. I could I out run that frail, smoker of a woman any day. Something drives me to stay just out of reach. Her wrath would run wild on the world if were to ever be diverted from me. Not to mention, I might hurt her. Again.

I am 40 years old. This girl had eyes that were carved opals set in fine dark chocolate. She had hands with out wrinkles. Christ, she thought I was smart. It was an evil thing. Everything about it hurt everyone involved. The pleasure was stale and coated in guilt. Like using pepper to help the medicine go down. And now is judgment day.

She comes and I will keep running with only a narrow margin of error behind me. I will run until her anger has worn off. I will run until the stench of lust has worn off. I will run until my feet break. Or I will run until she catches me.