breathe easy

I am, without a doubt, a romantic, but I believe there is a violence that lives inside of me. It is a soul-deep rage fueled by generations of sorrow and grief which I cannot bleed from my DNA, though it lies dormant when the air comes easy and it turns inward more often than not.

That being said, I am not a quiet person.

I may suffer in solitude, but I will not suffer in silence, because at least through my pain, I can create.

I write for the same reasons I run—for the sense of power, for the proven release, for the rush of endorphins that remind me why I choose to stay alive. I’ve written some of my best monologues while running, and in the end, when every sentence has been scripted and every word planned to perfection, I wonder if this is really what I wish I could say to him, or if it’s what I wish I could say to the younger versions of myself that I meet in his eyes.

I have a tendency to always see the best in people, a perspective I believe I mastered from being my father’s daughter, yet I have learned to break my own rose-tinted glasses for the sake of self-respect, and once reality reaches my eyes there is no turning away from indifference. While I will destroy myself for the sake of love, I will no longer break my own heart for the sake of hope, so I run because there comes a speed at which the world goes silent and your hands are forced to release everything your mind holds.

I started running because I thought I could escape my problems through mileage, but now I run to move through them. I run to meet the moment and I run because I choose myself.