I want to run.
I want to let down my hair and run.
I want to run straight out the front door of my house in my sweatpants and no shoes
and not tell my parents where I'm going.
And I want to run North.
Straight up north.
And I want to run accross The Bridge to The City.
And I want to run into The Park and lay on The Grass on The Lawn.
And I want to roll around and make a grass angel.
And to not have to think about homework.
or Midterms.
or the .03 point thread my college career hangs by.
or the invisibly small thread that my relationship hangs by.
or the fraying thread my social life hangs by.
or the thread my future hung by last I checked it,
Which I don't check anymore for fear that it's already broke.
And I want to close my eyes in the October dark and remember that aincient June,
when you convinced me I was beautiful enough for you to love me
and we lay on The Grass
with nostalgia for an imagined future.
Back before your striped shirt got stained
and before I cut off my hair
before the scene became impossible to reproduce.
And maybe, just maybe, if I run back there fast enough,
I'll run back through time to that point
just in time to warn myself not to taste the food on Mount Olympus,
Because a person can get hooked on that happiness
only to never find it again.