A poem (?) about the fast-pace of life.
I never enjoyed running, but I always seem to be running. Running from something or something. I don’t know why I run, but I do know why. I run to see everything. I run to be alive. I run to know that it’s all okay. Why? I don’t know. An urge wells in me. Self-doubts. Everything. I’m running. Away from the doubts. Running to a strange place of familiarity far from here. I run so fast. I run without thinking. I’m running in the race of life, yet I’m coming in last.
I’m far behind the rest. I like taking in the scenery. I like going back to parts that were beautiful. I like detouring off into curiosities. I know I’ll be last when I reach the end. I’m not too fussed. As long as I get to the finish. I’ll feel blessed.