of feeling the rain fall relentlessly but not at all minding its cold,
not minding my loss of breath,
not minding where I'm headed--
the idea of feeling the ground hard under my feet over and over, a rhythm, an acceleration as I build to a full sprint with no direction other than that
I'm
finally fully free.
But, in reality, my legs burn
and my sides and chest ache
and my stomach tears a hole in my body, threatening to rip itself apart
and my pulse spikes dangerously,
pounding
against
my skin
like a prisoner against glass.
But I don't stop.