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21 May 2008 @ 01:45 pm
Memories of Footsteps  
...I needed to write something?

One foot, then the other. Just keep moving, moving, moving. Never stopping, never weakening, just moving, moving at your own pace, moving to the beat of your own drummer who may or may not take days off; you never quite know, but always suspect when you miss a step or trip or fall on your way.

Just, always moving. Never time to breathe, never time to stop and smell the roses like she always seems to have time to. Always smiling, always upbeat, never letting anyone see. The Inside doesn't match the outside, and you don't want it to. You never wanted it to. You lie, you cheat, you grin through it all, but inside you cry, you throw things against walls in your frustration, you follow an idea just to end up where you started, not older, not wiser, just closer to your downfall.

Sometimes you wonder what it would be like. To let someone else, anyone else, see. See what you truly are, see why you're always moving. But you're afraid. You don't want someone else to end up like her. You've done enough damage, have wrecked enough lives just by moving, just by being your mask. Imagine the havoc you'd wreak if the inside and the outside switched. You don't want to.

So you just keep moving.

~~~~

Step, step, tiptoe, leap. Don't step on the ant; avoid that petal on the ground; you can't step there, that's quicksand. Throw your arms out as you spin, letting the soil become even more wedged between your toes; you don't care. The spin lifts your hair, sending it smacking into your face as you stop.

Your wild laughter scares off the birds in the bush, and you chase after them, wishing you could take off after them and fly. You'd love to dance in a rose, sleep in a carnation, have the prince rescue you from the dastardly evil bees, and it's not from lack of trying that you know you can't. You cried, you threw clumps of dirt against the walls of this heaven-prison, you ran with your right hand on the wall, like someone told you long ago, to try to get out, just to end up where you started. So you erase the memory of failure and try again.

You lie to yourself, steal away the reality of what happened back then, and that grin belonging to the you that might have been haunts you in your sleep.

So you don't sleep; you collapse, exhaustion sending you to the ground into black emptiness.

Just before your eyes close, you see a shape, running, moving towards you, and you think, "traitor," and wonder where it came from.
 
 
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